


Alabanza

by brandyllyn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, I only do happy endings, No use of y/n, Romance, She/her pronouns for reader, flirtatious dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 60,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29049354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandyllyn/pseuds/brandyllyn
Summary: A mis-delivered message causes You and Poe Dameron to become anonymous penpals. But falling for each other via letter while at the same time falling for each other in the real world leads to more than its fair share of complications.+++Told from Poe's POV, female reader POV, and digital messages.Vast majority of this is rated T. Explicit chapters are tagged at start and at top of those chapters.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Reader, Poe Dameron/You
Comments: 297
Kudos: 147





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter is all messages. The second chapter picks up with more traditional prose.
> 
> This fic never says 'no' to a canon event. At worst, it says 'yes and'. Definitely canon compliant to the movies - and quite a bit of the expanded universe.
> 
> If you're only here for the 'E' chapters (I don't judge) - 13, 17, 18, 24, 32

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/15 00.05.23_

> Dad,
> 
> I woke up this morning and realized.
> 
> It’s my birthday. It’s hard to keep track of the days like that out here - but my clock just synched and sure enough I’m 32.
> 
> I never really thought I’d outlive mom.
> 
> Well, you know how she was. A force of nature. I never really thought about how _young_ she was when she passed. Younger than I am now. I can’t imagine being my age and dealing with 8 year old me. I don’t know how you did it either.
> 
> I know you don’t like that I’m here, that I’m doing this. I’m not going to try to explain it again. I think we’ve fought enough about that don’t you?
> 
> But I wanted to reach out and say, I’m thinking about you. And I hope you lay some flowers down for her - from me. Those little white ones she liked so much.
> 
> Alabanza mama.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/15 00.17.43_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/16 18.27.07_

> p
> 
> I’m sorry I can’t lay flowers down for your mother. I don’t know what digit you got wrong but this is not your father.
> 
> But I know what it’s like to lose a parent young, and I just want you to know I kept your mother in my prayers today.
> 
> -A Friend

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/16 19.01.32_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/17 01.17.20_

> A Friend,
> 
> Thank you. I sent my message without checking and… yeah. You know what happened then.
> 
> I appreciate your thoughts. And your prayers. Her name was Shara Bey, if you’d like to light a candle for her.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/17 01.26.38_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/17 11.09.23_

> P
> 
> Of course I will.
> 
> If I may ask, what does alabanza mean? I’ve never seen the word before. My translator is giving me about 40 different definition and I don’t think it’s a breed of fish on Naboo.
> 
> -A Friend

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/17 12.53.49_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/18 02.17.46_

> Friend,
> 
> It’s a word my mother taught me. I don’t know where it’s from. It means to raise something up to the Maker. Singing to the heavens 'praise to this'.
> 
> It’s a way of… recognizing the sacrifice people give. I feel like I say it a lot lately.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/18 03.00.13_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/18 17.11.11_

> P
> 
> I know what you mean. We had an entire squad just… not come back. I had friend’s on that mission and I can’t help but think…
> 
> Regardless, thank you. Alabanza. It’s a beautiful word.
> 
> -A Friend

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/18 19.18.32_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/18 23.32.00_

> Friend,
> 
> I am happy to gift it to you.
> 
> So tell me, who are you? I know you’re in the Resistance, the sender code gives you away.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/19 00.03.16_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/19 01.36.33_

> P
> 
> Nice try First Order Spy. I’ll never give up my coordinates.
> 
> Kidding aside, I’m… hesitant to tell you. You’re right, we also likely serve alongside each other. What if we know each other already? What if I hate you?
> 
> I’m finding I rather enjoy talking to you like this. I’d hate to lose that.
> 
> -Your Friend

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/19 01.59.11_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/19 02.04.14_

> Friend,
> 
> You’re right. There’s a lot of people I don’t like and I’m sure you’re one of them. We should keep things simple. Straightforward. Preserve the friendship. Not talk about anything controversial.
> 
> Soooo what’s your favorite color?
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/19 02.45.48_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/19 03.01.39_

> P
> 
> Such controversy! Such boldness! Striking straight to the heart of me with your well-thought out questions.
> 
> It’s green. What’s yours?
> 
> -Your Friend

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/19 03.14.41_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/19 04.17.16_

> Blue.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/19 04.53.22_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/19 05.13.02_

> P
> 
> You know if you’re not going to even pretend to keep the conversation going I’m not going to bother responding.
> 
> -Your Annoyed Friend

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/19 05.16.52_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/19 05.31.42_

> My Patient Friend,
> 
> Sorry. I got distracted by… something I can’t tell you about.
> 
> This is more difficult than I thought it would be. All of my conversations are either related to missions, flying, or on the rare occasion even flirting with people. The first is off-limits and I don’t know enough about you to know if the third would be welcome.
> 
> What do you know about flying?
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/19 05.39.57_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/19 05.58.17_

> P
> 
> I know that it’s a thing people do. And it involves… aeronautics? Aerospace? Something with aero in it?
> 
> Please feel free to flirt with me, no one has done that in a while and frankly I’ve missed it.
> 
> -Your Friend

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/19 06.02.33_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/19 05.31.42_

> Lovely Friend,
> 
> I have created this self- fulfilling flirting template. Please choose what is appropriate below.
> 
> Your eyes are:
> 
> \- Blue like summer sky on Endor
> 
> \- Green like the royal emeralds of Naboo
> 
> \- Violet as a Cloud City sunset
> 
> \- Black like pools of Mustafarian obsidian
> 
> \- Red as a rebel insignia
> 
> \- Brown like molten caf at breakfast.
> 
> \- Grey like a well used R3 unit.
> 
> And then you need to imagine me winking at you. I am quite pleasant to look at so the rest should take of itself.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/19 05.39.57_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/19 06.04.50_

> A well used R3 unit? Really? That was the best you have? I think maybe you’re as rusty at flirting as I am at being flirted with.
> 
> -your friend

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/19 06.02.33_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/19 06.17.45_

> AHA! Now I know your eyes are grey. My dastardly plan is coming to fruition.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/19 06.24.39_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/19 06.27.31_

> Oh do you now?
> 
> -yf

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/19 06.31.01_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/19 06.35.22_

> … I am beginning to see a flaw in my plan.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/19 06.37.00_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/19 06.40.02_

> I just want you to know you made me laugh and I appreciate that greatly. Unfortunately, I now need to go be a part of the single greatest undertaking in the galaxy. Or, you know, normal work things.
> 
> -yf

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/19 06.43.04_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/03/19 06.45.34_

> Stay safe my friend.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/03/19 06.49.17_

<end of message>


	2. Chapter 2

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀   
_Sent: 34/07/21 18.27.07_

> P-
> 
> Are they doing the readiness drills every three days wherever you are too? Getting a full night’s sleep is impossible, I don’t know how they expect us to be able to do anything with all this nonsense. I need my beauty sleep. Trust me. It’s a whole mess up in here. I could carry rations in the bags under my eyes.
> 
> -a very exhausted friend

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/21 19.01.32_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/21 00.05.23_

> My tired friend,
> 
> I wouldn’t know, I 'm spending so much time in the cockpit these days my ass is bucket shaped. I swear to the Maker I have a permanent divot where the safety restraints go across my hips.
> 
> And you have eyes? After all that talk early on I just assumed you didn’t have any. Like, you were maybe a Celegian. Are you telling me you’re not? You’ve had eyes this whole time? I’ll have to rewrite my whole mental image of you now.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/21 00.17.43_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/21 18.27.07_

> Silly P-
> 
> I’m flattered you think I’m smart enough to be Celegian. But I have to ask… do you know of any serving in the fleet? Because I’ve always wanted to meet one.
> 
> -yf

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/21 19.01.32_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/21 19.04.41_

> I met one when I was a teenager. They did NOT like me very much which was fair enough considering I had just robbed them.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/21 19.05.37_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/21 19.06.39_

> You WHAT?

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/21 19.07.14_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/21 19.23.56_

> I knew you were going to ask.
> 
> Okay, so the first thing you have to understand is that there are exactly six ways to jump start a Gian speeder.
> 
> No, wait. I think I need to start before that. So you know the festival of lights? Well on a planet I’m not going to name each of the lanterns costs about a quarter credit for the simple ones, and some of the really pretty ones going up to fifty or so. And there was this person I wanted to impress so I had saved up all my money for the month and I was going to buy a really fancy one and present it to them.
> 
> Ok, the more I think about this the more I think this story doesn’t work unless you know a lot about the mating calls of borcatu.
> 
> Have you ever spent time on Codia?
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/21 19.27.07_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/21 19.30.31_

> P I swear to the Maker is this is another one of your stories that goes on for days and days and never gets to the point…

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/21 19.34.10_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/21 19.40.20_

> In four months of talking have I ever left you wanting?

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/21 19.43.29_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/21 19.46.01_

> ALL THE TIME

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/21 19.49.51_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/21 19.51.35_

> WHEN?

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/21 19.54.27_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/21 19.57.03_

> WHEN? YOU’RE ASKING ME WHEN???
> 
> Oh I don’t know P, who stole the pendant on Yavin IV?
> 
> Or whatever happened to the Jakora in the X-Wing?
> 
> Or the varactyl you 'borrowed'?
> 
> WHAT HAPPENED TO THE RED CHIPPED BLASTER P? WHAT HAPPENED TO IT??

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/21 20.03.13_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/21 20.12.46_

> Ok ok. Sheesh. You want me to finish a story? Fine.
> 
> I stole the Celegian’s change from the vendor and used it to buy the lantern. Got a kiss out of it too.

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/21 20.16.09_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/21 20.19.20_

> I hate you

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/21 20.21.38_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/21 20.23.51_

> No you don’t.

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/21 20.26.10_

<end of message>

Grinning at the screen you toss your comm pad to the side of the bunk and sit up, stretching. Your eyes catch on the small clock on the wall, set to the ship’s time instead of galactic standard like your comm pad was.

" _Shit,_ " you mutter and scramble across the room. You said you’d get the new intelligence to the bridge an hour ago. "Shit. Shit. Shit." You punctuate each curse with a shuffle of data units until you find the three you’re working on. Personally handed over by the last liaison to the ship, not to be put into the ship’s databanks. The information too valuable to risk falling into the wrong hands.

At least, you assume so. You still had to decrypt them and inform your relief of what, if any, actions needed to be taken.

"Shit."

Not for the first time you thank your lucky stars that your rank affords you your own berth on _Home One_. Not that all the berths were full. Heavy losses in the Resistance meant that there were more than a few beds that went empty. More every day it seemed.

But you had guaranteed privacy and that was integral to your functioning. You weren’t really the type of person to enjoy sharing living space -you preferred to be able to do your top secret shenanigans in the privacy of your own quarters. Like decoding intel. Or knitting. A hobby you had taken up six months ago and thus far were failing to excel at. The motions were easy, but just sitting there and doing the same ones over and over… your mind wandered and you inevitably missed one and then half the thing would unravel. Your quarters were filled with the remnants of sample squares, barely more than thin rectangles.

Concentrating on the data in front of you, you mentally call up the list of encryption keys - a trick that had earned you quick promotions through the Resistance. Once done, you plug them into the units and watch the data scroll past. Troop movements in the Outer Rim. Readiness surveys from several fleet ships. Coordinates for someone named Lor San Tekka. Nothing urgent, a few things to pass on but nothing before your next shift. No reason to drag yourself back to the bridge,

You hit the comm button near your desk. "Taskebah to Comms 1."

The word still feels odd in your mouth, despite the fact that you’ve been using it as your name for years at this point. Not your real one, that one you kept close to your heart, buried inside where only you knew it. No, Taskebah was the name you had chosen. A little joke for yourself.

- _Major Taskebah go for Comms.-_

"Just a heads up there should be a pilot arriving during second shift. From D’Qar. Can you place tower on watch for him?"

- _Copy that Major. Do you have a name?_ -

"No, just a callsign. Black One."

- _Understood. Anything else Major?_ -

You should really have reported up to the Bridge in person. You know it, the voice at Comms 1 knows it. But damned if you’re not too tired to even consider it.

"No Comms that will be all."

The line goes dead and you sink back into your chair. Pulling the data pad with the intel for the pilot to you, you quickly encode the information, using the separate key the pilot will have with him. It was a lot to keep track of. What was encoded with what, who was allowed to know what. But you had always been good at puzzles and could keep the pieces moving in your head from one day to the next.

Logging the information that was safe to do so, you do a hard wipe of the comm pads and stack them neatly to be taken to the Bridge on your next shift. Surveying what’s left, you make a note to not get so distracted by your pen pal next time and actually finish on time.

You smile to yourself as you get ready for bed, picking up the comm pad on the bed to send your final message of the evening. It was strange, having messages from your funny and anonymous friend come through on the same unit. You liked them, and the last few months had felt a little less lonely than the previous years knowing you had someone out there to talk to.

It wasn’t that you don’t like people it was just… hard. Hard to keep track of who knew what and what you could say to who. The Resistance trusted you with a lot of its secrets and it was a trust you did not take lightly. Conversations were difficult. But writing, writing was easy. You could review what you said, be sure to let nothing slip. It probably wasn’t over-stating it to say that the person on the other end of the comm pad conversations was your best friend.

_Well that’s depressing_ , you think as you slide under the sheets. You catalogue what you know about them, bits learned over the last four months. Name starts with a 'p' - first or last you’re not sure. Probably a pilot, what with how much they talk about flying. You’re pretty sure they’re male, but that one is still up for debate and you have no clue what species they might be.

It wasn’t much.

You don’t know how to categorize the other things. The small flirtations. The funny stories. How much you look forward to seeing their sender ID on your unit. You wonder, not for the first time, if you know them. Are they stationed on _Home One_? Is it Captain Pyrell in Gold Squad? Or Major Pitka in Red? You run through the list of names you’ve heard across the Comms traffic, and that only covers people whose _last_ name begins with 'P'. What about the people who had first names?

Sighing, you roll over and tuck your arms under the pillow, feel the comm unit shift. No use stressing about it. You didn’t really want to know anyway.

Really you didn’t.

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 102._ ⩑⋌ .32.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/21 23.21.46_

> Send it.
> 
> No names.
> 
> No coordinates.

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/21 23.59.10_

<end of message>


	3. Chapter 3

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 102._ ⩑⋌ .32.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/21 06.04.33_

> Be careful on Home One. I don’t have verification - but be careful and keep your eyes and ears open. This mission may be our last chance at stopping the First Order.
> 
> Gen. L. Organa

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/22 06.07.27_

<end of message>

" _Home One_ Tower this is Black One requesting permission to land."

- _Permission granted Black One, proceed to landing bay 7_ -

Poe lines his ship up almost by muscle memory, his mind elsewhere. It’s not until he hears someone tapping on his cockpit glass that he realizes he’s landed, a mechanic tilting their head at him as he sits and stares out his radiation shield. Acknowledging the mechanic, he flips the switch to release the cockpit cover and quickly hoists himself up and out. BB-8 whirs at him from the floor and then heads off to find a droid tech.

A Lieutenant is waiting for him and he falls into step behind her. All star cruisers are laid out roughly the same and it doesn’t take long for him to gain his bearings. Entering the Bridge, Poe scans the room by habit, noting how many people are there and the ones he could and couldn’t take if it came to a fight. Not that he thought he’d ever _need_ to take over the Bridge of a Resistance ship - but old habits are hard to break.

"Vice Admiral Resdox will be just a moment."

Poe nods at the young Lieutenant and tries to relax. He feels out of place, he had never worn an officer’s uniform like most of the people here so that wasn’t new. But he was dressed to blend in on his mission and he felt, for lack of a better word, scruffy. Hell, he hadn’t shaved in three days. He lifts a hand to rub his chin and sees movement from the corner of his eye. Turning quickly, he instinctively reaches out and catches someone who had just tripped going down the short steps.

"Oof," she says. And it was definitely a she. A human she at that. When he caught her one of his hands had clasped directly onto her breast. He moves quickly to correct that, setting her upright and giving her a wide smile.

"You know, when I say the ladies all fall at my feet…"

She’s pretty, in a severe way. Her hair is pulled back tightly from her face, her uniform pressed and sharp. But her eyes… her eyes are bright, deep, with long lashes framing them. Eyes she is rolling at him.

"Do you really say that?" She asks.

He thinks for a moment, "No, but I should."

The corner of her lips twitch, just for a moment before she looks away from him, jerking the edge of her uniform jacket down. "Thank you for catching me…?"

"Dameron," he offers.

"Ah," she replies and he raises an eyebrow.

"So you’ve heard of me?"

"No." The response is succinct. Clear and concise. But as she goes to move past him he can see the corners of her eyes are slightly crinkled. He turns his body to follow her movement, pleased that she sits at a console almost directly next to him. He leans his hip against it, ignoring the officer between them now.

"What’s a gorgeous woman like you doing in a dive like this?" He asks casually.

"Commander Dameron," the voice comes from behind him and he turns to it. "Admiral Resdox will see you now."

He nods and starts to follow the young Lieutenant before looking back over his shoulder. "See you around Gorgeous," and winks. He doesn’t need to see her to know she rolls her eyes again. Or that she’s probably still smiling.

"Admiral Resdox sir," Poe gives the older man a quick dip of the chin and the Admiral turns to him.

"Commander Dameron, pleasure to have you onboard. What can we do for you son?"

Poe leans his hip against a chair and runs one hand through his hair. "Well sir, I was told you would have intel for me."

"Were you now?" The Admiral’s face doesn’t move when he speaks, just his lips shaping the words without a single other muscle engaging. It’s disconcerting.

"Yes sir. A… contact." He knows he shouldn’t hesitate over the statement. If a Vice Admiral can’t be trusted then there was no help left for anyone in the Resistance. But still… he was getting such an odd vibe off the man he can’t help but be a little cagey.

"A contact? Well let’s see…" Turning back to his crew he barks, "Major Taskebah!"

"Yes sir!" A head pops up and Poe grins as he realizes it’s the gorgeous one.

"Major do you have intel for Commander Dameron?"

She looks at him and nods. "Yes sir."

"Well see," the Admiral’s face still doesn’t move, not so much as a twitch of an eyebrow. Poe was watching. "Go check in with Major Taskebah. Good luck to you."

"Thank you sir," Poe nods at him again and then walks across the room. To be more accurate he saunters - watching the woman watch him cross. He can’t help it. Something about her stern expression and severe style makes him slip into his best impression of a rogue. When he stops next to her he purposefully drops his gaze to her lips before looking into her eyes. "Major."

She blinks and him and blushes and oh yes, that was absolutely worth it. It softens her, makes her look infinitely more…

"For you," she interrupts his thoughts, shoving a comm pad into his hand. He takes it automatically.

"Aren’t you going to tell me what it says?"

She blinks at him and then narrows her eyes. "If you’re really Commander Dameron you’ll have the encryption key for it. If you’re not, well…"

From the corner of his eye he can see one of the security personnel place a hand to the blaster on his hip. They _definitely_ took security seriously here. General Organa was right, something was not right on this ship. Something had people on edge.

Watching the security guard he gives Major Taskebah his best smile and turns the comm pad on, entering his codes and quickly scrolling through the information. Contact San Tekka on… Jakku? Fuck that was going to be no fun at all. Hot and arid and sand everywhere. Dammit, why did people always go to ground on desert planets? Why not in lush forests or nice beaches?

He clicks the unit off and sees the security guard relax. Looking back at the Major he tilts his head just a bit. "I won’t be here for long, come have lunch with me."

Her brow furrows, "Why, did you not understand your comms?"

Laughing a bit to himself he tries to look earnest, "No, I understood it. I was just thinking it might be nice to have some company. I’ll be leaving right after."

Her eyes are darting between him and somewhere over his right shoulder and he waits for his answer- not surprised when it’s a No. Shrugging he tucks the comm unit into his belt. "Too bad, I was looking forward to the view." Her jaw drops, her lips parting just a touch. And that blush again, staining her cheeks and down her neck - disappearing into her uniform jacket. "Take it easy Gorgeous."

Exiting the bridge Poe thinks ahead. An hour here for refueling - both for himself and his X-Wing, then at least six hours in his cramped X-Wing in hyperspace on the way to Jakku.

"Join the Resistance, they said," he mutters to himself as he walks down the hallway, "See the galaxy." No one ever said that most of saving the Republic would be sitting in a cramped ship that smelled like solvents with only his droid for company.

Speaking of…

"BB-8!" He calls out to the droid as it crosses the corridor in front of him. It turns quickly, rolling slightly sideways before righting itself and trilling at him. "Did you get yourself tuned up?" BB-8 gives an affirmative set of whistles and he gives him an affectionate knock before continuing on to the mess hall. Food for him, fuel for the ship. Then on to Jakku.

Easy.

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/22 09.23.23_

> My friend,
> 
> I’m going to be gone for at least a couple of days. I can’t tell you where. I wish I could. I can’t take any kind of comm unit and I don’t want you to worry when you don’t hear from me for a bit. Please stay safe, I’ll talk to you when I get back
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/22 09.30.42_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/22 17.38.14_

> P-
> 
> I’ll be here when you get back. Just come back, ok?
> 
> -yours

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/22 17.43.21_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/24 16.14.23_

> P-
> 
> I know you said you’d be gone a while but I heard a joke today I thought you might like.
> 
> How do you unlock doors on Kashyyk?
> 
> With a Woo-Key
> 
> -your friend

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/24 16.20.17_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/26 01.03.42_

> P
> 
> Six days feels like more than a few. I hope that’s not a bad sign. I hope you’re okay. I lit a candle for you today and prayed. I don’t do that often but it was the only thing that I felt might help.
> 
> Sometimes I wish I knew your name. Knew who you were. So I could check the rosters and see if you’re there. Listed among the dead or the missing.
> 
> I’m not sure if knowing what happened - and it being bad - is better than not knowing. I tell myself it is and kick myself for not insisting that we know.
> 
> But then again, right now I can still hope.
> 
> -your friend

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/26 01.07.09_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<draft message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Last Draft:_ 34/07/28 00.09.43  
_Sent: N/A_

> I miss you.

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: N/A_

<message unsent>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/29 13.07.34_

> Friend… what a strange word. I have a lot of people I consider friends. They come and go and I don’t really ever notice it until they’re gone. A few people maybe. You. You’re my friend. Perhaps the best one I have.
> 
> I got someone killed. He was trying to help me and I got him killed. I don’t know what or how to think about that. I’ve seen people die - I don’t think there’s anyone in the fleet who hasn’t lost someone but this one feels different. He helped me, risked his life for me when he didn’t have to. And I got him killed because I wasn’t a good enough pilot to get us out of the mess.
> 
> He put his life in my hands and I killed him.
> 
> I don’t know why you’re my friend. I don’t know why you do this. I can’t imagine I’m worth it.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/29 13.11.32_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/29 20.13.22_

> P-
> 
> I’ve written three drafts of this and I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell you what you need to hear.
> 
> I don’t know how I can string words together to not only tell you that you are worthy but that will make you believe it. In the months we have been writing to each other I have never known you to be anything but kind. You never make fun of others, you’re constantly worried about the crew you serve with, you keep me in more happiness and joy than I have had in years.
> 
> I don’t know what happened to you while you were away. It sounds awful. I wish I could help. I wish I could sit with you, hold you if that was you wanted, or just listen to you grieve your friend. I don’t believe for a moment that whatever happened was your fault. I don’t even need to know what it was - I don’t need details to KNOW in my soul that you did everything you could.
> 
> I’m here for you. Please know that. Whatever else may happen in this world or the next, I’m here for you.
> 
> -Yours

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/29 20.15.56_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/29 22.07.57_

> Friend
> 
> Thank you. For just being you. When I got back to base I wasn’t (I’m not) at my best and I’ve put a lot of burden on you. I’m sorry about that. I won’t do it again.
> 
> _-_ p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/29 22.11.01_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/29 16.14.23_

> Don’t ever apologize for needing a friend. Why else have them? And if you call yourself a burden one more time I’m going to shoot you with that chipped red blaster you were telling me about.

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/29 16.20.17_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/29 22.07.57_

> If you can find it.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/29 22.11.01_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/29 16.14.23_

> I STILL WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO THE DAMN BLASTER

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/29 16.20.17_

<end of message>


	4. Chapter 4

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/30 16.33.47_

> I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop this. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.

_Recipient ID: 102._ ⩑⋌ .32.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/30 16.38.18_

<end of message>

You were transferring to the _Ninka_.

Direct orders from somewhere, non-negotiable. Not that you were terribly interested in negotiating. Whatever the name, _Home One_ had never really been your home. The ship was being sent back to Hosnian Prime for refitting, all but a skeleton crew being routed on transports to other ships in the fleet. Your transport included not just yourself, but several members of the _Home One_ command including Vice Admiral Resdox.

Looking back on it, peering out the window and watching the beam of red light destroy an entire star system, it was all incredibly lucky.

You should have been there.

At the last minute your slot on the ship’s skeleton crew had been reassigned - and you had had only about ten minutes to gather your belongings and get to the transport. But you were supposed to have been there. Not… whoever it was that had replaced you.

You grimace at the thought. You don’t even remember her name. Young. She was very very young. Not that you had the wisdom of the ages or anything, but still… she was so _young_.

Leaning your forehead against the transparisteel you groan softly. This never got any easier. The loss of life, the battles, the _fight_. You had known it was going to be hard when you joined up. It was supposed to be hard. You had signed up for hard. But not like this, not fighting every day for your sanity.

Shifting slightly, you feel the comforting weight of your comm unit bump against your calf. At least you had it. At least you had your connection to your friend…

Fuck, they might be your only friend at this point. If they were even alive.

You don’t know anyone else on the transport as more than colleagues and superiors. The few people you were friendly with on _Home One_ had been transferring elsewhere. Was it to the Hosnian system? You can’t remember.

Billions of people were gone. The entire government of the Republic. Just, gone.

When the ship lands you’re surprised it’s on an Army base and not the _Ninka_. D’Qar by the look of it. Your transport lands amidst several X-Wings and an old light freighter. When the doors open, the senior officers are gone almost immediately, tromping across the small flight line to what can only be the admin building.

You’re not a senior officer.

You stand for a minute, watching the droids unload the cargo. It felt odd to be in the middle of so much activity and yet have nothing to do. To your left you see a mechanic struggling with a coolant hose and run over to help him, jerking the kink loose before helping run the line up to the underbelly of the X-Wing. The mechanic gives you a nod of thanks and you step back, out of his way.

"Oomph," you hear the sharp breath behind and you turn on one heel, an apology springing to your lips. But you stop yourself when you see who it is.

"You."

Dameron blinks at you for a moment, the lines on his face deeper than you remember, before his face breaks in a smile. "Hello Gorgeous. Glad to see you made it."

You nod stiffly and his face turns serious. He raises a hand and sets it on your shoulder, the weight a steady comfort. "I know that look. Don’t even think it. There’s no rhyme or reason to the First Order’s slaughter. Don’t try to find one."

"It’s so many people…" you sway and his other hand comes up to catch your other shoulder, holding you steady.

He ducks his chin to catch your eye, "Hey, don’t go falling for me again. Once is cute, twice feels a little melodramatic you know?" You bark a laugh and see him smile at you again, a slight sparkle returned to his eyes. "I’m glad you made it Gorgeous, the galaxy would be a duller place without you."

"You too," you mutter, for lack of anything else to say.

He looks at you for a moment longer, then his hands tighten on your shoulders briefly and he lets you go, jogging on to wherever it was he was going before you knocked into him.

You find a set of cargo containers and jump up on one, concealed behind a stretch of netting, crossing your legs and pulling your comm pad out. Seeing the messages you quickly shoot off a reply, then tuck the pad quickly back into your pocket. You weren’t supposed to have it permanently. They were for passing messages that couldn’t be trusted to the channels, brief use. Despite how many went through your hands in a day there simply weren’t enough for everyone to have one. They were reserved for senior officers and missions. But you had your own, one you had stolen in the dead of night several months ago, and you’d fight anyone who tried to take it from you.

Resting your head back against a container you look up into the sky, searching for a hint of the calamity that had occurred. The sky is a clear blue, mocking you with it’s cheeriness. You sigh and whisper "Alabanza." _Praise to them_ , you pray to something you’re not sure you believe in anymore, _Maker shelter them and protect them._

You’re not sure how long you sleep, it’s still daylight so it couldn’t have been for long. You hadn’t even intended to, the events of the day catching up to you so quickly you’d simply drifted off. But the blaring klaxons and loud announcement has you jolting into full wakefulness across the space of a single heartbeat.

- _All hands all hands, pilots to your ships. Prepare for launch-_

You still don’t have anything to do - and this isn’t even your branch of service - but _All Hands_ is _All Hands_ and you slip off the crates, craning your neck to see if there is somewhere you can make yourself useful. You see various techs holding life ops vests and helmets, running to meet pilots in their orange flight suits. Looking around, you see a set next to you.

 _Dameron_.

Of course it is.

Picking the set up you look up and down the line for him and see him standing about 50 meters away, talking to a set of pilots who are working with their techs to get fully suited. Grabbing the set you jog their way, arriving as the first pilots start moving. Holding the vest up you slip it over Dameron’s shoulders easily and move behind him to do the buckles on the back, while he’s still talking. You’d think he didn’t even know you were there, there’s no acknowledgement, but he moves at your slightest urging, twisting his arm and shoulders so you can get him suited up.

Finished, you step back in front of him and see the other pilots are darting off. He grins at you. "Thanks," and takes his helmet. Pulling the straps free with one hand he cocks his head, looking at you out from under absurdly long eyelashes. "Kiss for luck?"

Snorting, you reach forwards and pull one of the straps on his vest, tightening it. "Do you think you need it?"

"Mmm," he sways a bit as you pull on the strap, and a line appears on his forehead as though he’s seriously thinking about the question. "Need is such a strong word."

You shake your head in amusement then give his chest one last pat. "Ready to go Commander."

It’s like a switch is flipped. His face is serious, focused as he returns your nod then takes off across the flight deck.

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/30 12.55.09_

> Please tell me you’re ok. Tell me you’re not in the Hosnian system. Tell me you’re okay friend.
> 
> Please.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/30 12.56.43_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/30 13.08.32_

> Friend, don’t do this to me. I can’t stand not knowing if you’re ok.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/30 13.09.16_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/30 13.22.04_

> I don’t know how you did this for a week. I’m losing my mind. Please answer me.

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/30 13.22.59_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/07/30 13.30.40_

> P-
> 
> I’m here.

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/07/30 13.31.16_

<end of message>


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So this is where I start playing with the timeline a little. In universe - the end of _Force Awakens_ and the entirety of _Last Jedi_ take place over about 3-4 days. I've stretched that out a little bit. Most notably, there's a lag of a few days between Starkiller base being destroyed and the First Order arriving on D'Qar.
> 
> Also, I wasn't really interested in writing the "novelization" of the movies so the story here is taking place in scenes between what we saw onscreen. If you haven't seen the movies in a bit it may feel like there's big plot gaps. Sorry about that? I've tried to show our POV characters reacting to things that happen off-fic in a way that means you can easily say "Oh, [blank] happened."

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/01 16.59.53_

> Look, sometimes you have to steal a Luggabeast to get off a wasteland of a planet you know? These things just happen.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/01 17.04.55_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/01 17.15.50_

> They do not "just happen". And they seem to happen to you with alarming regularity.
> 
> -yf

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/01 17.29.44_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/01 17.43.47_

> I’m going to start calling you 'Yiff' from now on I think. My friend Yiff told me yesterday… Yiff thinks that you… Yiff told me this great joke…

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/01 17.45.44_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/01 18.35.16_

> Yiff strangled me in my sleep last night….

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/01 18.40.13_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/01 18.43.47_

> Ha! You’d have to find me first.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/01 18.50.39_

<end of message>

Poe kept pace with the unit carrying Finn’s body, one hand holding the other man’s, trying to find a pulse. "Stay with me buddy." He kept saying it over and over, kept squeezing the hand in his. Hoping he would feel the man squeeze back. He didn’t know what else to do.

When they got to the MedBay he helped the crew lift Finn onto the gurney, trailing them as they took the him into a surgery bay. He stands there, hand lifted to press against the glass. Over the course of the next hour several people come by, trying to get him to move. To go report out. To join the celebration, to do anything but stand there and stare. He gives them all the same hard glare, daring them to push the issue. No one does.

He’s not sure how long he stands there. How long he watches them work on his friend. Doesn’t notice the time passing until he hears a heavy sigh just over his shoulder, "So I drew the short straw this time."

He closes his eyes for a moment then turns his head. "You’re not going to try and run me off too are you Gorgeous?"

She steps up next to him, her shoulder just touching his. "I was sent to tell you he’ll be fine. He’s out of the woods. But he’s going to be under for a few days while he mends."

Poe sinks in on himself slightly, relief flooding over him. He barely notices her arm slip around his waist, turning him away. "Wait," he objects, "I should be here when he wakes up."

"It’s going to be days before that happens. What you _should_ do," she scolds as she moves him over to an empty bed, "is let me clean up that cut on your face."

He thinks about objecting again but her hands are shifting him, pushing him down until he’s sitting and from here he can see those beautiful eyes, and over her shoulder, Finn’s resting form. "Okay."

She gives him a small smile and then turns to the tray by the bedside, picking up a piece of medical batting and some liquid. "This is going to sting," she warns before she wets the batting and presses it to his cheek. He hisses and she lifts the cotton, blowing against his skin softly, "Sorry."

She’s close to him, so close he could wrap himself around her if he wanted to. Well, not if he wanted to - he definitely _wanted_ to - but he could do it if the opportunity presented itself. Her officer’s jacket is hanging open, the thin white undershirt sticking to her skin in the humid climate. He can see the swell of her breasts, see them rise and fall as she takes a breath and then blows across his skin again. The hairs on his arms stand up and he shivers, biting back a moan. The silence between them feels heavy and he searches for something to break it.

"See, this is what happens when I don’t get a kiss." She jumps when he speaks and he blinks at her.

"What?"

"For luck," he clarifies, lifting a hand to his face. "This is what happens."

Her lips twitch and she gives him a skeptical look. "Didn’t you have this when you left?"

He had, but he wasn’t sure she had noticed. He’d gotten it on his mission to Jakku actually, not that she knew that. "I didn’t get a kiss before that mission either," he points out.

Now she giggles, a full smile transforming her face, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She seems to realize it as soon as it happens, coughing and re-arranging her face back into a more serious expression."Are you always like this?"

"Like what?" He asks, reaching out and placing his hand over hers where it rests on the bed. She glances down at it then up at him again.

"Incorrigible."

"Oh, definitely," he assures her and leans a little closer. "Utterly."

Her gaze drops to his lips and he watches her bite her own. Instantly his body tenses, blood rushing to places it has no business rushing in public. Then she shakes her head and moves away, pulling her hand from beneath his. Busying herself with repacking the med supplies. He wills his body to cool down and turns sideways, leaning on an elbow. "So when did you transfer to Med?"

"I didn’t," she doesn’t look up from her work. "But they haven’t assigned me yet and the MedBay was short staffed."

He pulls a face of mock concern, "Are you telling me you don’t know what you’re doing?"

Shooting a glance back over her shoulder his heart skips a beat at how beautiful she looks in that moment, that position. "Not even a bit. If your face falls off it’s your own fault."

"How is it _my_ fault," he grumbles, hopping off the edge of the bed.

Clutching the medkit to her chest with one hand, she taps on his breastbone with the forefinger of the other. " _Several_ perfectly qualified people tried to help you and you were positively rude to them. So you get what you get." She studies him for a moment, head cocked to the side. "I hope I didn’t ruin your good looks."

He follows as she walks away, dogging her steps. "Good looking am I?"

"You know you are, you don’t need validation from me."

"It’s still nice to hear."

Stuffing the medkit into a cabinet she quickly shuts it and turns to him, only then realizing how close he is. He’s got her nearly boxed in, leaving her room to pass him on one side - but blocked by the wall, the storage unit, and him on the others. He can see her assess her escape route, see the moment she decides not to take it.

"Should I start calling _you_ Gorgeous?" She asks with a raised eyebrow, arms crossing over he chest.

"Could get confusing," he admits, feeling a warm rush at her words. At the praise. He definitely liked this one, more than his usual flirtations. He finds himself hoping that maybe it will actually _go_ somewhere - for the first time in longer than he cared to remember.

That wasn’t true, he mentally corrects himself. There _was_ someone else - but they were firmly and entirely just a _friend_ regardless of whatever else he might occasionally think about them.

"I could-" but he never finds out what she was about to say. A shout interrupts her, Captain Pava calling his name across the MedBay and he jerks his head towards the noise.

"Dameron we need you in Ops."

"Another time Gorgeous," he promises and takes off.

"Another time Scrumptious," he hears her call after him. A warm flush hits him again, settling deep in his stomach.

Oh, he liked her a _lot_.

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/01 16.50.17_

> Quid pro quo suggest an exchange.
> 
> Call this one getting even.

_Recipient ID: 655._ ⋊⊿ _.21.47_ ⩟ _01_ ⩝  
_Received: 34/08/01 16.54.09_

<end of message>


	6. Chapter 6

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/03 12.30.29_

> P
> 
> Oh I know SO MUCH about you.
> 
>   * You’re definitely a pilot - either a very good one or a very bad one. I don’t think there’s a middle ground there
>   * One of your names starts with a 'P' - or you’re really bad at spelling
>   * You get into trouble a lot - or your a good liar
>   * You’re very annoying - on purpose or not I’ve yet to figure out.
>   * ... I _think_ you’re human.
> 

> 
> See? So much.
> 
> -F

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/03 12.33.54_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/03 12.47.23_

> So many 'or’s, have you considered they might all be 'and’s?
> 
> See, I know much more about you.
> 
>   * You’re kind
>   * You’re impatient
>   * You tell horrible jokes
>   * You have a tattoo
> 

> 
> -p… which may or may not be silent when said out loud

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/03 12.50.43_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/03 13.11.11_

> Ah yes, the infamous Pneumonia - of Plague Squadron.
> 
> And that’s creepy. I haven’t mentioned my tattoo. How did you know that?

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/03 13.13.24_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/03 13.11.21_

> I didn’t. But now you have to tell me what it is. It’s the law.
> 
> -Psalm of Singer Squadron

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/03 13.13.45_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/03 13.20.42_

> I can’t believe I fell for that.  
>  It’s an ouroboros.  
>  (Psychedelic of Spice Squadron.)

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/03 13.23.56_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/03 13.27.01_

> Where? Why?
> 
> -Pseudonym of Covert Squadron

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/03 13.30.17_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/03 13.33.48_

> I had these- I mean, I don’t know what word to use. I guess you’d call them friends. We all got one. Years ago.
> 
> And location will just have to be a surprise.
> 
> (Pteropod of Monster Squadron)

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/03 13.35.59_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/03 13.40.17_

> Why do you tease me like this?
> 
> \- Pterygium of Body Squadron

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/03 13.42.03_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/03 13.44.14_

> Admit it, you looked that one up.

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/03 13.46.30_

<end of message>

"Major Taskebeh." The sharp tone jerks your head up from your work at the console. You weren’t sure you’d ever get used to being called that. "Take this to Commander Dameron, he’s not answering comms."

You stand up, taking the comm pad in one hand. "Yes ma’am."

After a day spent doing what you could on D’Qar the _Raddus_ had finally arrived and you were quickly integrated into their crew - working comms, doing encryption, keeping secrets. Vice Admiral Holdo was as different from Resdox as night and day. A warm, if firm, presence on the bridge. She took time every shift to walk from person to person and check in. Offering praise where earned, sometimes a gentle prodding when needed. You liked her, liked this new berth.

It was getting crowded though. The evacuation of the base on D’Qar meant that there were more bodies on the _Raddus_ than there was space to house them. Despite nominally having your own quarters, you were hot-bunking with a radar tech who worked opposite shift from you. Him sleeping while you worked and vice versa. It wouldn’t be so bad except you _really_ didn’t like the lack of privacy.

And there were people _everywhere_. Including some families, those who had travelled to D’Qar after the disaster in the Hosnian system, looking for shelter and help. For every transport moving between the planet and the ship, another was taking refugees to other Republic strongholds and returning with supplies. Everyone knew that it was only a matter of time before the First Order showed up for their revenge. D’Qar needed to be cleared out and the fleet gone before that happened.

Tucking the comm unit under your arm you consider where to go first. Records showed that Black Squadron was bunking in one of the cargo hangars, sleeping mere meters from their ships. The briefing room is on the way there and you decide there’s no harm in checking if Dameron is there first - even though the bridge had had no luck getting an answer. If you were being honest, there was a small thrill that shot through you when you’d been sent on this errand. A thrill that had nothing to do with the task and everything to do with a certain man’s brown eyes.

You touch the keypad outside the briefing room and the doors slide open. The first thing you see is a Abednedo pilot, you think his name might be Threnalli, standing on a chair. The chair itself is rotating slightly and you raise an eyebrow at him. He stands up straighter, which only causes the chair to jerk beneath him. Not bothering to comment, you step into the room, hearing the doors swish shut behind you.

Once past Threnalli, you can see that _every_ member of Black Squadron is standing on something. Chairs, tables, one enterprising woman is balanced on a small box. You take in the room, every eye turned on you. To the side, you can see the blinking red light of the comms unit, unattended. Sighing, you pinch the bridge of your nose. "Do we need to have a talk about mental health?"

"Bold words for someone standing in lava." Dameron states calmly from the front of the room, perched sitting on the back of a chair. He raises an eyebrow at you, the rest of his face dead serious.

"What are you-?" But you’re cut off when you hear a voice shout "Mustafar!"

Turning quickly, you see a young boy, no more than six or seven. He’s standing on one of the tables near the front, fist raised in the air. Then he points at you. "Five, four-" the rest of the room joins the count at that - except for Dameron who grins at you.

"You better get off the floor before the lava gets you."

"Two, One." Before the sound clears the air you leap sideways, onto one of the chairs, sending it spinning. You reach out with one hand, grabbing the edge of a table - currently occupied by a human woman, the only person not in a flight suit beside yourself and the boy - to stop the rotation.

The kid laughs and scrambles from his table to a nearby, stationary, chair. Dameron reaches out and gives him a fist bump and the kid grins as he returns it. The woman in front of you smiles and helps you move from the chair to the table next to her. "I assume you didn’t come here for this?"

"No," you shake your head. "I have a communique to deliver to Commander Dameron."

"Well," she looks out across the room. He’s about as far away as he could possibly be. "Good luck I guess."

"Commander," you call out and Dameron turns to look at you. "You wouldn’t mind meeting me over here would you? I was sent with a message."

"Is it urgent?" He asks and you consider lying to him.

"I don’t think so," you mumble instead.

"Then bring it over here." The look on his face is a challenge, the face of a man who _knows_ that you won’t do it. Has already written several pithy comments that he’ll drop in your lap as he passes by you on the bridge later. Probably some nonsense about being _hot_ because of the _lava_. Comments intended to make you blush.

Over your dead body. You mentally map out the best route, discarding paths with too many many swivel chairs (too unstable), and trying to avoid instrument panels (sending a distress call out from the room would be… non-optimal). Finally, you see the best path you think you have. It’s not great, but it minimizes obstacles.

"Would you mind getting on the chair for a moment?" You ask the woman next to you. She laughs and cautiously moves into it, using your hand to steady herself.

"Mom?" The boy calls out and she waves, giving him a reassuring smile.

Looking at the short length of the table, and the instrument console six feet away, you take a deep breath and _jump_.

You nearly overshoot. The console top is slicker than you thought and your knee slides across it before you catch yourself and wrap your arms around it. Satisfied, you sit up, careful of the toggle switches, and then rise to your feet. Balancing with one hand stretched up to the ceiling, you step from that console to the next. A pilot moves out of your way and you nod to him as you move onto his table. Using his hand for balance, you carefully reach out and grab a jumpsuit hook on the wall, swinging yourself to the desk at the far end.

Dameron is just a couple feet away, the swivel chair he is balanced on slowly turning. Occasionally, he pushes one hand against the wall so he can reorient himself. You hold the comm pad out to him with a defiant head tilt, squaring your shoulders. Grinning, he reaches for it, not noticing your foot kick out, shifting his chair abruptly into a sharp spin. It tips and his eyes go wide as he goes down slowly, clawing at the wall.

"No!" He yells, turning to the kid, "help me! The lava!" He continues to writhe and thrash, calling out to the Maker, making the boy swear to live a good life. Then he collapses onto the floor, one last spasm wracking his body.

You cover your mouth with one hand to hide your grin and watch as the kid slowly salutes the Commander’s fallen body. "You will be remembered sir," he says gravely and you turn away before your laughter can break the moment.

"Okay Darron," a woman’s voice calls. "I think that’s enough for today."

From the floor Dameron waves a hand in the air, not opening his eyes. "Yes, squad dismissed."

As the sound of boots hitting the floor fills the room you sit down on the edge of the desk, swinging your legs just off the floor. Without even cracking an eyelid, Dameron reaches out and grabs one of your ankles, stilling it. "That was a dirty trick."

You kick at his hand and he releases it, sitting up and running his fingers through his hair. "You’re just mad you didn’t think of it."

He tries to hide his smile at that as he stands up but you see it. He taps your hip with his hand and you slide over so he can sit next to you. The desk is more than big enough that you could do so and leave you both plenty of room, but you don’t move that far and he doesn’t take all the space he’s given regardless. Instead, he sits pressed against your right side, his thigh touching yours from hip to knee.

He skims the comm pad then, eyes darting across the information before turning it off and dropping it to the table beside him.

"Bad news?"

"No." He doesn’t offer more and you don’t pry. You knew better than anyone the ins and outs of confidential information. In the silence, you suddenly realize you’re alone together. And for some reason the room seemed to be getting warmer.

"I want-" he starts and then swallows. "I was going to ask you to have lunch with me but after the first time I’m a little afraid of being shot down again."

You snort to yourself, not looking at him. "Don’t pretend I broke your heart."

"Well not that bad," he concedes but you can hear a note of … _something_ in his voice. Something you can’t quite place. "But I was pretty disappointed."

"I find that difficult to believe," you mutter to yourself, not really expecting an answer.

"Hey," you can tell he’s looking at you but you don’t turn to meet his gaze. "Haven’t you noticed me flirting with you?" You shake your head, just a quick back and forth. Not sure if you’re answering him or denying the question itself.

"I’ve been assured you flirt with everyone," you point out. And you had. A few well-placed questions about Dameron had been quite enlightening. He was well-loved, respected, flirted with everyone even though no-one could pinpoint the last time he had actually had a relationship.

He shrugs, turning away again. "Yeah. But not as much as I do with you."

"Why _do_ you flirt with me so much?" The question is out before you can call it back and you hate it. Hate how needy it makes you sound. You open your mouth to try and … you’re not sure what. Lessen it somehow. But he answers you first.

"I can’t seem to help myself." It sits between you. This bald statement, hanging in the air. Neither of you looks at the other, both staring into the space in front of you.

"Do you want me to stop?" The question from him is low, deep, riding on a wave of feeling you can’t put your finger on.

Your gut instinct is to reply swiftly but you hesitate, sensing that this moment means more to him than he’s letting on. So you mull it over, let it sit in your brain. Would you be happier if he _stopped_ flirting? Absolutely not. And so no one could ever claim you hadn’t given it full thought when you give him your answer. "No. I don’t want you to stop."

You can hear him swallow, feel the muscles of his thigh tense against yours. "Do you want me to kiss you?"

Your heart stops for just a moment and when it returns you can feel the pulse through every vein of your body. "Yes."

He moves then, sliding off the desk and standing in front of you. His thighs almost touching your knees. You lift your gaze from the buttons of his shirt and when you meet his eyes it’s like an electric shock. His face is intense, and it’s obvious he’s waiting for you to look at him. You wet your lips and his attention drops to them. Then he leans forward, so _so_ slowly, and places a hand on each side of you on the desk as he lowers his mouth to yours.

The first thing you notice is how soft his lips are, a contrast to the sharp stubble of his cheeks as you lift your hand to rest there. He barely moves, lips gently playing against yours for what feels like hours until you shiver under him. He catches your lower lip when you do, pulling it between his and you feel the barest flick of his tongue against you.

You can’t help the small, desperate moan that escapes you and you feel a shudder rock through him at the sound. Your grip moves to his neck, trying to pull him closer to you but he holds himself back - continuing his soft caresses, the occasional slide of just the tip of his tongue. He’s not touching you anywhere but where his lips meet yours. His arms bracketing you but his hands firmly planted on the desk. It’s maddening.

You try to deepen the kiss, pressing your tongue to his mouth, stealing a short lick against his own tongue. He makes a noise at that, almost a grunt, and he pulls away from you just a bit. A hairsbreadth. No more than a whisper of air between you.

"Stop that," he scolds and you feel his tongue touch your upper lip for a moment. "I’m trying to be a gentleman."

"Why?" You ask and feel the muscles of his back shift beneath your palm.

"Well for one thing," he’s putting more distance between you and you regret every inch, "this is not a private room. Anyone could walk in on us at any moment."

Suddenly the reality of where you are crashes down. "Oh," you mutter.

"Yes, _oh_ ," he’s definitely mocking you but he says it with a smile, his nose nuzzling yours for a moment.

"You know, this was your idea Knockout."

"I know," he grumbles, grinning a bit about the name, moving back so he’s no longer leaning over you, resting his hands on your knees. He’s staring into the space between the two of you, his chest heaving.

"If," you try not to smile at how quickly his head whips up. "If you asked me to lunch again, I’d say yes this time."

"Really?" He grins, "Would you like to have lunch with me today?"

Then you remember. Your briefing, " _Shit_. No. I’m sorry…"

He snorts and holds up a hand, "No, it’s good. You’re keeping me on my toes."

You groan, leaning forward and burying your face in your hands. "I don’t mean to."

The softest brush under your chin has you tilting your face up. His finger glides softly against your jaw and he’s smiling at you. He freezes and glances to the door, then his hand cups around your cheek and his mouth is covering yours. His teeth nipping at your lip and his tongue sliding against yours, teasing it. It’s a kiss that is, above all other things, _hungry_.

Before you can think, before you can lift your arms to wrap around him he takes a deliberate and _large_ step back. His gaze drops to your lips and he takes another, one hand tapping against his thigh in a nervous staccato, putting several feet between you.

You sit like that for a minute, staring at each other, before you finally croak out, "Dinner?"

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/03 14.30.11_

> D’Qar.

_Recipient ID: 655._ ⋊⊿ _.21.47_ ⩟ _01_ ⩝  
_Received: 34/08/03 14.43.20_

<end of message>


	7. Chapter 7

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 000._ ⩤⩙. _00. 12 ⊻ 37 __⋀_  
_Sent: 34/08/04 06.47.35_

ALL POINTS BULLETIN::

> Holdo, Amilyn [Pr]: Acting Chief, Navy; Acting Chief, Army  
>  Gawat, Idrosen [Pr]: Major  
>  Lintra, Tallissan [Pr]: Captain  
>  Dameron, Poe[Dem]: Captain

_Recipient ID: N/A  
_ _Received: N/A_

<end of message>

"Hey," the voice is soft near his shoulder. Poe doesn’t turn to it, continues leaning one arm against the wall, his forehead touching the cool steel. He’d tried to find an out of the way place - not hard now that all the civilians had been evacuated. And thank the Maker they had before the First Order had arrived. There were even less people after the bombing run on the dreadnaught and the First Order attack.

In another part of the ship, General Organa was fighting for her life and he was… what? Doing nothing. Supposed to sit on his hands and watch while Holdo got them all killed.

"Are you okay?" She’s here and he doesn’t want her to be. Doesn’t want to hear her voice or feel her touch or have her see him like this. He can’t take time for…. Whatever this was. They’d missed their dinner date. Sometime between lunch and their plans everything had fallen to pieces, a dreadnaught appearing in the sky above D’Qar and then it was All Hands to battle stations and far, far too many deaths. Maybe if he ignores her she’ll go away.

"Talk to me," it’s a whispered plea, one he might have been able to ignore if not for the hand resting softly on his shoulder.

"Is that an order, Major?" He grits out.

He can hear the hesitation in her voice, the soft shift of her hand on him, "I heard about that. I’m sorry."

Giving up he rolls to the side, dropping his arm and settling with his shoulder and temple against the wall. He feels tired and useless and the last thing he wants is for her to realize the same. "What do you want?"

Her hand had slid from him when he turned and she makes a fist for a moment before replying. "I wanted to check on you. See if you were okay. After… everything."

"I’m fine," he chokes on the laugh that escapes him. "I’m always fine."

"No one is always fine," she corrects gently and he notices the depth of concern on her face, the deep lines around her eyes. Notices just how worried she is about him.

He forces a smile, "I’m okay, really, just needed a moment."

She doesn’t say a word as she watches him, her eyes searching his face. She glances down, taking in his posture, the stiff hands at his side that he tries to loosen even as she looks at him. When her gaze returns to his face she’s frowning. "Why are you lying to me?"

"Because you’re pretty and I always lie to the pretty ones," he says it with a smirk, knowing that his playful tone is at odds with his expression. But he can’t seem to make his face obey, can’t seem to put on a mask of irreverence.

"You’re doing it again."

She was more perceptive than he had given her credit for and he sighs, sinking into himself a little. "What do you want from me? I’m not really in the mood to fool around."

He was hoping to hurt her, hoping if he did so it would make her leave. And he’s successful, can see the pain flash across her face before it disappears. "Good, neither am I."

They stand like that for a minute, staring at each other. Her arms are crossed across her chest, her face impassive. He doesn’t know what his own face looks like but if it was anything like he felt inside he knew must look a mess.

"Ok," she shrugs after a while and leans one shoulder against the wall, still looking at him. "Forget all that then. You look like you could use a friend and I have it on the best authority I’m a great one."

He laughs, a short bark. "A friend huh?" Something he had too little and too much of all at the same time.

"Yeah," she smiles at him and he feels it break across him like a sunrise. "Your friend, if you’d let me. Let’s put all the…" she blushes and he can’t help the small smile that comes unbidden to him, "other stuff on a back burner for now. What do you need? From a friend?"

What did he need?That was a question for the ages. He needed to be in his ship - fuck he hadn’t even had time to really think about that yet. Black One was gone. He needed Leia to be well but there was nothing he could do there but pray.

"I need…" he closes his eyes for a moment, "I need to be _doing_ something."

"Ok," she says and he opens his eyes to see her push herself off the wall. "Let’s go."

"Where?"

"Does it matter?"

He huffs and follows her. Down the empty back corridors and into the busier use areas. After a few minutes he realizes where they are going and stops. She keeps going a few steps before she notices and turns back to him, giving him a questioning look.

"I don’t… I don’t need to see it."

"I’m not taking you to _see_ it," she corrects, walking back and taking his arm, moving him forward. "I’m taking you because we need every hand we can get."

The blast doors are open, the twisted metal and smell of smoke beyond making him swallow hard. "I can’t…"

She squeezes his arm and steps past him. "Everyone is worried. Everyone is scared. But we don’t need orders to know we can’t let this sit. We have to," she hesitates and continues. "No one told any of us to come down here. No one is in charge. We’re just doing the best we can. We _need_ someone to lead us Dameron."

"You’re an officer. You do it."

She shrugs, "I work with data all day. Not people. And this crew - they don’t know me like they do you."

He looks into the hangar again, seeing past the scorched remains of his X-Wing to the people beyond. A mishmash of pilots, mechanics, off-duty officers, and droids moving through the hangar.At least a hundred people sifting through the wreckage. Pulling supplies that had survived the missile strike. Occasionally stopping to flag a body and holding for a moment in silence. He can hear Leia’s voice in his head, one of the last things she had ever said to him.

 _Dead heroes, no leaders_.

He feels his spine straightening, his shoulders squaring. Lifting his chin he settles into the role of Commander. He might not have the rank to go with it, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t one.

Striding into the room he flags down the first group he sees, asking who was in charge. When no one offers an answer he begins to organize them into specific groups. As more people drift his way he makes larger teams, setting some to work on transporting the salvage away, others to sort through what wasn’t salvageable.

Within fifteen minutes the hangar was starting to look more like an active undertaking and not just people wandering around. He gives authorization to use Black Squad’s berth, the cargo bay next door, for storage. There were plenty of bunks available after the events of the last twenty-four hours - the squad could easily find other arrangements

Clapping a hand on Wexley’s shoulder, he directs the man to a crew in the back, cautioning him about the fire retardant foam that made the hangar floor slick. As he watches the other pilot leave, he sees _her_ working with a crew to pull a piece of X-Wing up and off the floor, bracing themselves for the worst.

He waits until they finish and then motions her over with a tilt of his head. She’s dirty, hands and arms covered in soot - a streak across one of her cheeks. He wipes at it with his thumb without thinking. She gives him a half-smile and a questioning raised eyebrow.

"Thanks," he says. He hopes it’s enough. That she’ll understand.

"Of course," she replies, then grins at him. "Sir."

A brief puff of air leaves him and he opens his mouth to say what he really should. That she was amazing and wonderful and that he appreciated her more than he would ever be able to put into words. But someone shouting his name stops him.

"Poe!" It’s Finn, running across the hangar, slipping a bit in the foam. He’s trailed by Paige’s sister… what was her name again? "Rose and I need to talk to you." Yeah, that was it. Rose. Finn reaches him then, clapping a hand on his shoulder and staring intently into his face. "We need to talk. Somewhere private."

Poe’s brows draw together as he thinks. But he should have known that she would come through for him, yet again. "The General’s recovery room." All three of them - Finn, Poe and Rose - turn to look at her and she shrugs. "It’ll be private, and it will be safe from other prying ears."

"She’s right," Poe turns to Finn. "It’s the best place. Let’s go." He takes a step and then stops, looking around the hangar, then he turns back to her. "You’ve got this from here?"

She nods, "Don’t… don’t do anything crazy?"

He takes her hands in his, pressing a kiss to the backs of her fingers and grinning at her, feeling like himself for the first time all day."Would I do something crazy?"

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/04 21.04.43_

> I don’t know if I’ve ever had a worse day Friend. We’ve lost so many this last week. And I’ve disappointed someone I love. And I don’t think I’m ever going to have a chance to make it up to her. Ever get her to forgive me.
> 
> And I know the one shouldn’t hurt as much as the other - the weight of life in the balance - and yet it does.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/04 21.06.32_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/04 21.20.52_

> Do you know the Alderaanian poet Canceli Lanco?
> 
> -f

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/04 21.22.31_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/04 21.23.25_

> Of course.

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/04 21.25.47_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/04 21.29.13_

> "Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds  
>  Nor bends with the remover to remove"
> 
> If this person, the one you feel you’ve disappointed, loves you as you do her then I don’t think you are capable of doing something truly unforgivable.
> 
> -f

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/04 21.31.02_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/04 21.36.09_

> How do you always know exactly the right thing to say?

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/04 21.38.02_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/04 21.39.16_

> Magic.

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/04 21.40.56_

<end of message>


	8. Chapter 8

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/05 15.36.11_

> We’re all that’s left. 400 people across four ships. Everyone in the Resistance running for their lives. Which means you’re here too. Somewhere in those 400 people. I can’t help but look for you. Can’t help but wonder if we’ve met and not known it.

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/05 15.38.32_

<end of message>

He was crazy.

That was the only explanation for why Poe Dameron was striding onto the Bridge of the _Raddus_ flanked by several armed members of his squadron. You’d heard he had been here not ten minutes ago, had missed his confrontation with Admiral Holdo. But no one seemed to think it had gone well.

"Clear the bridge," he barks, focused on the command chair. "Escort the officers down to the hangar." Oh. Oh no. This wasn’t happening. Not him.

You see him talking to the protocol droid, C3PO, but can’t hear what they’re saying. Suddenly, your arm is grabbed by a pilot and you jerk away from her. Quickly, you bend over your console and punch in your codes, locking down your work station. You didn’t know what was going on but you’d be _damned_ before your intel fell into the hands of… what should you call them? Traitors? The word slices through you and you nearly choke on it. A hand on your arm again, this time more forceful.

"Do _not_ touch me," you growl at the pilot, Pava you think her name is, one of Dameron’s squad. She’s still holding a stun blaster on you.

"Gorgeous?"

You whip around to look at him, the man you’d thought was… never mind. "Imbecile."

Dameron shakes his head before walking over, motioning for the pilot holding you to back off. "What are you…" he trails off as he looks down at your console, lock screen flashing red and asking for a passcode.

"You think I don’t have the code for that?"

"I don’t know, do you _Captain_?"

He flinches at the word. "Ok, maybe I don’t. But you’re going to give it to me."

"I don’t deal with traitors," you bite out.

"You think I’m-" he grabs you by the shoulders, giving you a rough shake and leaning in until his nose is almost touching yours. "I’m not - I’m trying to _save_ us."

You snort and push him away, "An armed takeover of the bridge? Shutting down our only escape route? How long have you been working with the First Order?"

How could you not have _known_? It was your job to know. To ferret out the truth from the lies and to make sure this exact thing _didn’t_ happen. To make sure scum like him didn’t … do exactly this. You glance down at the console. As though it might give you an answer. The red alert just blinks back at you, steady and somewhat comforting. At least he’d not get to the intel. If you could keep him distracted - maybe Admiral Holdo could get some of the transports away. Maybe there was still time to save them.

"I am _not_ a traitor," he grits out.

"It’s-" you stop yourself, stop yourself from saying the words. The words that might make him trust you, or might make things worse. You didn’t know this man - not at all. You search for what you can do, what you can say. The Admiral just needs time. You know it in your bones.

"I’m sorry," he takes a step back and motions to the side. "I don’t have time for this. I hope…" He cocks his head at you and then gives a small sad smile, "I’ll see you on the other side."

You struggle against the hands holding you, shouting his name as they escort you off the bridge. You’re barely on the other side of the doorway when you see the blast doors engage.

"I can walk," you snap at the pilot holding you and he huffs before motioning you ahead of him, his stun blaster never wavering. You move ahead, mentally cataloguing what you might be able to use.

The sight of Admiral Holdo and General Organa turning the corner ahead makes you miss a step, skidding slightly on the floor. You hear a curse behind you. "General…" Taking advantage of his confusion you spin, sweeping one leg out and grabbing the stun blaster. You shoot him before he hits the ground.

Standing tall, you nod at the two women. "Admiral. General."

"Nice work," Holdo says as she strides past, giving you a short nod in return. General Organa smiles at you, still wearing her medical gown, a pleased look on her face. You give her a smaller nod and she looks into your eyes for just a minute before continuing onwards.

There’s a team already at the blast doors, using a plasma cutter to break through. You stand with the other officers, fingers clenched on the blaster. Trying not to think about what was on the other side.

"He’s doing what he thinks is right," you hear Organa say.

"I know," Holdo replies, "but believing it’s right doesn’t make it so."

She nods in agreement just as the plasma team sends the fragments of the blast door exploding inwards.

"May I?" The General asks and you automatically hand her your stun blaster. You see Organa enter the smokey remains, hear the single pulse of the firearm.

Holdo motions you and the other officers onto the bridge and you barely acknowledge her order for evacuation. You see Dameron’s slumped body across the room, but he’s not your problem to deal with. Crossing to your console, you quickly unlock it, moving to a data pad storage unit while it boots back up. Moving as quickly as possible, you begin to transfer all available data and communications to the units, stacking them next to you one by one.

Open. Copy. Encrypt. Delete. One after the other.

You get distracted for a minute when the gurney arrives to take Dameron, watching the security force move him to it. You still weren’t sure what happened - but the way that Organa and Holdo were acting you were grateful you could move him out of 'traitor' and into something closer to 'mutineer' in your mind.

The pile of comm units starts to tip and you quickly slip out of your jacket, placing it on the floor and moving the units into a pile in the center.

Open. Copy. Encrypt. Delete. You’re using both comms consoles, trying to make the most of the little time you have left.

You start running out of units before you run out of data. All recent comms. Senior officer’s data. Things that can’t be risked transmitting to the surface. Thing you can’t risk being intercepted. A hand on your arm stops you and you see Holdo standing just over your shoulder.

"Leave them," she says quietly.

"Just a few more." Open. Copy. Encrypt. Delete.

"Major," her voice is stern and you jerk upright. "I said leave them. Get down to a transport."

If only you’d had more time. If only…

You crouch down, tying the arms of the jacket into a makeshift handle. When you stand, you see her giving you a fond look. Then she motions you ahead and you retreat from the bridge of the _Raddus_ for the last time.

The transport hangar is a buzz with activity and you quickly spot your assigned ship. You start to move towards it and realize Admiral Holdo isn’t with you. Going through the transport list in your head you give her a confused look. "Admiral, our transport is this way."

"I know." She doesn’t need to say anything else. The look in her eyes tells you everything you need to know.

Carefully, you set the bundle of comm units on the ground, then stand - throwing your shoulders back and giving her a full salute. Something rarely done among the Resistance but in this moment you feel it’s necessary. "It’s been an honor ma’am."

She acknowledges you with a short dip of her chin and you find yourself blinking back tears. Smoothly, as though she’s gliding across the ground rather than walking on it like a mortal, she crosses to another transport, standing next to General Organa.

Giving yourself a shake you crouch and scoop up your precious cargo, running to the transport and ducking in just as the doors close.

"Nearly didn’t make it," the Lieutenant standing by the door says as you go by.

"You have no idea."

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/06 02.24.50_

> The _Raddus_ is gone and I’m watching what’s left of us get picked off. One by one. Is it selfish of me to hope you’re with me? That you’re here on this little transport somewhere - maybe even flying it. That we will get through this together or not at all?
> 
> Send me something P. Let me know you’re still with me.

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/06 02.26.21_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/06 02.59.46_

> Three more transports are gone.At least 60 souls. I don’t think I’ve ever prayed as hard as I am right now. What use has any of this been if we don’t survive today?

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/06 03.02.37_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<draft message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Last Draft: 34/08/06 03.35.54  
_ _Sent: N/A_

> I can’t stand the idea of losing you.
> 
> Please please please dear Gods above. Maker shelter them and keep them. I can’t do this anymore. Not without them. Please. I’ll give anything. Just keep them safe.

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: N/A_

<message unsent>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/06 04.00.40_

> Alabanza P

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/06 04.02.29_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/06 04.02.06_

> Skywalker is here.

_Recipient ID: 655._ ⋊⊿ _.21.47_ ⩟ _01_ ⩝  
_Received: 34/08/06 04.06.43_

<end of message>


	9. Chapter 9

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/06 12.43.35_

> You’re here. I know you are. There’s no universe in which we come this far and I lose you. No universe.

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/06 12.45.02_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/06 12.51.25_

> One day I’ll enjoy hearing you whisper alabanza to me, praising me to the heavens, but right now it feels more like a premature burial.
> 
> I’m here. Do you think I’d ever leave you?
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/06 12.51.42_

<end of message>

The _Millennium_ _Falcon_ is crowded, what with forty odd souls on board a light freighter meant to handle four or five at most. Crowded, and yet still far too few. Two days ago - was it only two? It felt like more - there had been four hundred. Already a pitiful number. And now down to only a tenth of that…

Poe moves out of the way as two officers go by, carrying a third between them. Looking for space to lay their friend. "This way," he tells them and leads them towards where the crew quarters are. The beds are full, but he helps them find some blankets and make a pallet on the floor. He moves out of the way of the medics working, eyes scanning the faces in the room. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s looking for, just that he wants to see their face. The face of a friend, he feels like he’d know them if he saw them.

Wouldn’t he? How could you know the ins and outs of someone so well and not recognize them if you saw them? If they weren’t here at all, that’s how.

He stumbles backwards and bumps against something sticking out from the bulkhead.

A comms station.

Intended for use to speak with the cockpit but it would still work. Quickly, he punches in the right codes, the right encryption keys and reads his messages. The last one is from just a few minutes ago. He sags with relief, tension he didn’t realize he was holding flowing out of him. They’re _here_. Against all odds his Friend is _here_ , on the _Falcon_. Quickly he types out a return message, not wanting them to worry any longer. Then he logs out, being sure to wipe all record of his codes or messages from the ship’s system.

"Captain," the voice behind him is questioning and he turns to see Threnalli waiting for him.

"You made it!" He gives the other man a smile, taking the Abednedo's face in his hands for a moment and then giving him a hug.

The next few minutes are taken up with well-wishes, grateful hugs, and finally meeting Rey - the woman Finn doesn’t shut up about. After seeing her work with the rockfall back on Crait, Poe understood why.

Over the next hour, those who are still mobile make their way to the crew commons. It’s not a large area, but the largest single space on the ship. Someone had found a crate of Tevraki and he watched as small cups were passed to those remaining. He took his with a small nod, clutching it in his hand.

"All a fire needs," Leia’s voice is strong, rolling through the small space, "is a spark." If the stories were to be believed she had spent her youth on this ship - fighting in the Rebellion. What must it feel like to be back on board? Fighting the same fight thirty years later? Did she take hope in it - knowing that the odds had been overcome before? Or was it more resignation - that no matter what this fight never seems to end.

"Commander Dameron," her voice knocks him out of his thought and he realizes he has missed the last minute of her speech. He also notices the rank change. "Perhaps a tribute? For the fallen?"

He looks around the room, at the faces of his friends. They were all that was left of the Resistance. He raises his cup. "To the universe we dream about," he pauses, "and the one we live in now." He trails off, choking on the next word, the enormity of people it will need to encompass.

"Alabanza," someone finishes for him. A voice he knows almost as well as his own.

"Alabanza," he echoes, hearing the remains of his squadron do the same. He searches the room for the voice until he finds her. People begin to clear around them but he stays frozen, unable to make his brain work, to process what had just happened. Then she starts to walk away. He moves so fast he nearly hits someone, reaching out and grabbing her arm. "Wait, what did you say?"

Jessika Pava looks at him like he’s lost his mind and maybe he has because if his friend was Pava then that meant… she’d been here the whole time. Flying by his side. Always on his wing. A voice he heard in his headset nearly every day. "I said Alabanza. So did you."

"Where did you learn that?" His voice is more forceful than he intends it to be, his hand gripping her arm. He needs to know. Needs to know if this is them.

"From you, you doofus, let go of me," she jerks away and her eyebrows draw together. "You say it whenever we lose someone. Or have a successful mission. You say it a _lot_."

"Oh," he deflates, letting his hand drop to his side. He’d forgotten. It _was_ something he did. Something to remember the squad that was lost, praise those that came home. "I’m sorry I’m-"

"Are you feeling okay Commander?" Pava’s voice sounded far away and he nods automatically.

"I’m fine."

But he wasn’t. The rush of joy he’d felt when he thought he’d found her. The deep wellspring of emotion at finally being able to look his friend in the eye. It had rocked him to his core.

He stumbles towards the cockpit, looking for Finn. He barely notices the person in his way until he knocks into her, sending him a step backwards and her sprawling to the floor.

"I’m sorry I-" but it’s _her_. He puts a hand out to help her up, "Falling for me again Gorgeous?" The words come out without thought, dropping into the familiar rhythm of flirtation despite everything that had happened.

She glances at his hand then pushes herself to her feet on her own power. "I don’t think it counts if you knock me over."

She’s not wearing her uniform jacket, just a white undershirt and a pair of pants slung low on her hips. There’s a medallion around her neck he’d never noticed. Her hair is falling in a mess around her face - the first time he can ever recall seeing it anything other than pulled back and in perfect order. He’s a little surprised to see the lines of a tattoo encircling her upper arm, black strands flowing around each other.

They stare at each other, neither saying a word. Finally he breaks the silence, "I should explain, what happened… on the _Raddus_ …"

She waves her hand at him dismissively, "Whatever it was, neither Organa or H-Holdo seem to have had any ill-will to you about it." She stumbles over the Admiral’s name, blinking several times. "I don’t think it would be right for me to hold it against you."

And again they stand there, just staring, for a minute longer. Not moving, not speaking. This time she breaks the silence. "I’m glad you made it."

"I’m glad you made it too," he sighs. Maybe he hadn’t entirely fucked everything up after all. He reaches for her then, cupping her cheek in his hand. She leans into the caress for just a second - just long enough to give him hope - then jerks away, taking a step back.

"Sorry," he mutters.

"No I-" she shuts her eyes for a minute and when she opens them he can see they’re cloudy with tears. "I’m just… today was a lot you know?"

He snorts at that, "That’s an understatement."

She smiles then, a watery thing, "I’m not hanging on very well."

Realization dawns on him. It’s not him she’s recoiling from, it’s whatever emotions are wound up so tight inside of her she’s terrified to let them out. "Taskebah…" He starts but she flinches.

"Don’t call me that." The words come out fast, stumbling over each other.

"You’ve never told me your first name," he gently reminds her.

"I- I don’t have one. But don’t call me that. I can’t deal - I can’t do it today. Can’t hear that." She’s breathing fast, on the verge of hyperventilating. Staring at a spot on his chest.

He steps towards her slowly, reaching out and catching the fingers of one of her hands in his. Carefully, with deliberate movements, he brings her hand up to rest on his chest. Over his heart. "It’s okay Sweetheart," his hand covers hers, keeping it pressed to his shirt. He feels her fingers dig in, just a twitch. She’s still not looking at him, still breathing entirely too fast.

"Feel that? Feel my heartbeat. Ignore everything else. Just feel that. Try to match yours to mine." He’s keeping his voice low, gentle, like he’s luring a wild animal to him. Her whole body moves when she swallows and she closes her eyes, brow furrowed. "That’s it Sweetheart. Deep breath in…"

He continues talking to her. Calling her sweetheart, counting out breaths. He watches as her face relaxes, her shoulders falling. Then her free hand comes up and covers his, the one holding hers to his chest. Curling over his fingers. When she opens her eyes he feels as though she’s gut-punched him.

"Thank you," she whispers.

He places his free hand over theirs, holding all of her that he can to him. "Hey, I have it on good authority that we’re friends." She nods at that, mostly for herself he can tell. "And what’s the point of having a friend if they’re not there when you need them?"

She freezes, staring at their stacked hands. Her eyes rise to meet his and he can tell she is going to say something, her lips parting - but he never gets to hear it because Finn is calling his name. Walking down the corridor and grabbing him by the upper arm.

"Poe! I need you up …. Oh, hi again." Finn looks between the two of them and then raises an eyebrow. "Sorry, did I interrupt?"

"No," she says quickly, stepping away. "I think we’re okay." Poe tilts his head in a silent question and she gives him a small smile. " _I’m_ okay."

"Okay," he looks at her one last time before following Finn to the cockpit.

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/06 19.52.00_

> The _Falcon_ is too small for this many people. I feel like every time I turn around I step on someone. I’ve probably stepped on _you_.
> 
> Has anyone stepped on you? You can be honest. It was definitely me. Tell me where you are so I can apologize.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/06 19.55.31_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/06 20.04.26_

> It IS quite cramped. You’re right. Makes me wish I was back on D’Qar. Blue skies and room to move.
> 
> If you could be anywhere at all right now where would you be?
> 
> -friend

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/06 20.07.45_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<draft message>

_Sender ID:382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Last Draft: 34/08/06 20.10.47_

_Sent: N/A_

> With you.

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: N/A_

<message unsent>


	10. Chapter 10

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/07 15.45.31_

> If I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to get me killed.
> 
> Brother.

_Recipient ID: 655._ ⋊⊿ _.21.47_ ⩟ _01_ ⩝  
_Received: 34/08/07 15.47.14_

<end of message>

Poe Dameron.

Jessika Pava.

Poe.

Pava.

You walk quickly across the jungle floor, ducking under a set of vines. It could be either of them. Both had seemed familiar with the word, the one echoing it from the other. When she had said it, raised her cup and mourned the fallen with a hushed 'Alabanza', you had frozen, unable to decide what to do with the new information. And then he had said it too, Dameron letting the word roll off his tongue like a prayer. _Poe_ Dameron.

You didn’t want it to be Pava.

The way they had said it, with such familiarity, it was possible that it wasn’t as rare as you thought. It could be neither of them. It could. It could be some other person from that crew, or even their base. Maybe it was just a thing pilots said to each other. The fact that they both had names that started with P was a coincidence.

You didn’t want it to be.

And then _he_ had held your hands and talked you down from what was shaping up to be a full blown panic attack. _He_ had called you his friend and yes, you had said something similar to him back on the _Raddus_ but it felt different when he said it. Like he was quoting someone else. Like he was quoting _you_.

You wanted it to be him.

You want it to be Poe. You knew his first name. Had known it for a while. Somehow the connection had never occurred to you. But it fit. Your friend was one of forty people, you knew that much. The sense of humor fit too. The way he made you feel. And if it _was_ him then it was someone you had found yourself drawn to from the moment you first saw him.

You stop, eyes tracking down the underground corridor you’ve wandered into. Why were you still pretending that you didn’t know? That every molecule of your soul wasn’t screaming that you knew _exactly_ who your friend was? Alone, in the dim light underground, you finally accept the truth.

Poe Dameron was _him_.

And he wanted to meet. You knew it. Had known he was fishing for that when he sent his messages that night on the _Falcon_. Had known it even as you ducked the query - tried to turn the conversation back to something that more resembled the previous banter.

Why? Why why why?

Why not say yes? Why not say "I’m sleeping thirty feet away from you please come over here and hold me and call me sweetheart again and just make everything all right."

Your short laugh echoes in the hallways around you and you quickly stifle it. That would have gone over…. Really well probably. So why hadn’t you? Why had you huddled alone under your jacket and stared at the bulkhead for hours not sleeping?

Because…

You shake your head before you can complete the thought. There was no reason to dwell on that. You’d spent enough time that night commiserating with yourself to spend even a minute doing so today. Instead, you quicken your pace and push out into the midday sun, looking for your team to report out to. Spotting them a hundred yards or so away, you make your way there.

"Mostly crew quarters," you tell the Lieutenant, "a couple of empty storage lockers."

"Thank you," he made a note on his data pad. "Commander?"

You blink at him for a moment before you remember. He meant _you_. Once what was left of the Resistance had landed on Ajan Kloss there had been a flurry of promotions and reassignments. The remains of Black Squadron were off looking for allies and supplies, both said to be trickling in at a slow but steady rate. And with new recruits came a need for new officers to lead them.

"Yes Lieutenant?"

"Do you have time to check out that bunker?" He gestures with his chin and you glance over that direction.

"Absolutely," you tell him, turning to go. Then you pause and look back. "You’re doing a fine job Lieutenant."

You see him stand up a little straighter, his lips twitching in a self-satisfied smile. He was new, barely old enough to enlist. But he was here, and he was doing his best, and as Senior Command part of your job now was to ensure morale.

Ducking under a curtain of vines, you wait a second for your eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Skylights dot the ceiling above, letting in sunlight, but whatever generator is powering this bunker hasn’t been turned on yet.

"Damn," you mutter, wishing you’d remembered to bring a flashlight.

Placing one hand on the wall next to you you move slowly down the hallway, stopping to peer into the empty rooms. This looked like it had once been infantry quarters. Bunks pushed up against the walls, the mattresses still in fairly good shape even after being abandoned for some number of years. Whoever had sealed the base when they left had done a good job.

It doesn’t get darker as you move to the other end, but the echoing sound of your own footsteps seems to fill the space and press back in on you. Ducking into a side room, you make a mental note of the cabinets and open one to find bedding - still vacuum sealed. Now _that_ would be useful.

The sound of metal scraping on stone nearly makes your heart stop. It’s the sound of one of the doors, but not near you. A door elsewhere. Someone else is down here. You mentally give yourself a shake. Of course someone else is down here. There were at least four teams out exploring the base - there’d probably just been some crossed wires and another person had been sent in as well.

"Hello?" You call out, hating the slight quaver in your voice. It didn’t matter that you _knew_ whoever was there was friendly, you still felt like you were a character in a horror holo, just asking to be stabbed by a murderer.

A light shines out of a room about three down from you. At least your companion had remembered a flashlight. It turns your direction and you have to hold a hand up to block the bright beam.

"Sorry," a voice says and you groan inwardly. Of course. Of course it’s him. Why wouldn’t it be? Everything was him. He moves the flashlight beam to the floor between you and you can see him clearly now. Dark pants, white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, black gloves. Why in the _heavens_ was that so sexy?

He coughs and you realize you’ve been staring at his hands and you blush as you jerk your gaze back up to his. He’s smiling just a little and you want to kiss it off of him.

"How are you today?"

It was the first chance you’ve had to talk with him since the _Falcon_. Once on planet everything had moved so fast. He was with his squad, you were with the new officers, there just hadn’t been an opportunity. Hell, this was the first chance you’d had to even talk to _yourself_ for more than a few minutes.

"Sweetheart?"

You jerk at the pet name. He looks more concerned now, leaning forward like he’s trying to see your face better. What had he asked? "Oh, I’m fine. I’m great."

A pause. "You’re lying to me. I thought we agreed not to do that."

Why? Why did he have to push it? "I’m not lying," you counter, "I’m just… not telling you the whole truth."

One of his eyebrows disappears under a curl of hair - that’s how high he raises it at that statement. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps giving you that look that’s half skepticism, half disappointment.

"Fine," you mutter. "You want the truth? I don’t know what to do about you." There. That should make him regret asking. It had the added bonus of being true.

He blinks at that. "About me?"

Oh right. He didn’t know. You had been stewing in your own revelations so much you had forgotten that he didn’t know. Wasn’t facing the same dilemmas as you. His face is showing his confusion, barely illuminated by the skylights and the reflected beam of his flashlight. He looks a little tired, you’re sure you do as well. And as you take in the sight of him you decide to throw all caution to the wind and do the thing you’d been wanting to do ever since you figured it all out. Ever since the _Falcon_. Ever since forever.

You cross the space between the two of you in four steps, running your hands up his chest, sinking your fingers into his hair. Then you pull his mouth down to yours and oh… how could you not have _known_? How could you not have known that this man held your heart in his hands? How did you not know the first moment he had pressed his lips to yours back on the _Raddus_? Or the first time his hands had touched you on _Home One?_ How could you not have known when your souls had been entwined the moment his message had gone astray and you had taken a chance responding to a stranger.

The flashlight clatters to the floor, his arms wrapping around you. There’s no light touches this time. No teasing brush of his lips to yours. This is hunger, passion. His lips mould to yours and his tongue thrusts into your mouth and you moan into him and meet it. Tangle your tongue with his, using your grip on his hair to tilt his head just so.

He picks you up. One hand dipping down to cup under your ass and he _picks you up_ , spinning you into the room he had just come out of. It’s darker in here - which you’d know if you bothered to open your eyes. And there is a stack of mattresses along one wall which you find out in due course because he carries you to them and lays you down, mouth never leaving yours. The mattresses are narrow and there’s barely room for the two of you side by side but that doesn’t matter because you don’t want to lay side by side. You want him over you, want his weight to press you down.

Your knees rise to settle on his hips, feel him press hot and hard between them. He groans and you lick into his mouth, chasing the sound, wanting him to do it again. You pull at his back, arching your hips up into his and are rewarded by the answering rock of his own. A gasp, from you this time, one he chases with a flex of his hand against your hip.

"Sweetheart," he says and you hate the sound of it - not for the word itself but because he stops kissing you to whisper it. "Not that I’m not overjoyed by this… but I’m also confused."

You groan, trying to pull his mouth back to yours but he resists, bringing one of his hands up to take yours and press it to the mattress beside your head, fingers intertwining with yours. "Tell me what’s going on."

Why? Why is he breaking the trance you’re in? Why is he insisting on bringing reality back to this place where all you wanted was to get lost in the fantasy. And what the hell were you going to tell him?

"Please get off me."

He doesn’t point out that you were the one that had started this. That you were the one that had pulled his weight to you. He just moves to the side, crouching next to the pile of mattresses while you sit up and press one hand to your face. The other is still held in his.

"I’d really like to know what’s going on."

You half laugh, half snort at that. He’d like to know? So would you.

"Is this- is this about what happened on the _Raddus_?"

You shake your head, still not looking at him.

"Do you want me to leave?"

You shake your head again and hear him sigh.

"Sweetheart I’m not good at reading people’s minds."

"There’s someone else," you blurt out.

Oh _fuck_. That wasn’t… you feel his hand go slack in yours. Pulling away from you. "Oh," he says and you curl in on yourself at the hint of pain there. "Are they-" a hesitation, "alive?"

"Oh Maker," you breathe and bury your face in both hands. You feel his hand come up to your shoulder, rubbing a small comforting circle. You stand up quickly, not looking at him. "I have to go," you state and your feet are carrying you from the room before you can think twice about it. You hear him call for you, hear his voice chasing after you as you all but run back to the sunlight.

You can’t do this. Can’t face him. Can’t face Poe _fucking_ Dameron and know that he was the man you’d fallen head over heels for. It wasn’t fair. It was hard enough when you thought you had _time_. Time to figure out how to make things work - if you even _wanted_ to make things work. Hard enough to face the feelings growing inside and wonder if they were something you would be able to pursue. Hard enough when you could wrap him up in the same lies you told yourself. Lies that had gotten you through your years in the Resistance. Lies that were the very foundation of who you were. Lies you hadn’t told your friend because you hadn’t needed to.

And so you face your own truth.

You didn’t deserve him.

Not today, not yesterday, not tomorrow. Who he is and who you are were so diametrically opposed that you might as well be matter and antimatter. He was good. He was a leader. He was a hero. And you… you were something else entirely.

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
S _ent: 34/08/08 11.00.34_

> Meet with me. We survived all of this I think we deserve that.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/08 11.03.13_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/08 15.22.12_

> Please talk to me.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/08 15.25.37_

<end of message>


	11. Chapter 11

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/08 16.06.40_

> I’m sorry.

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/08 16.08.12_

<end of message>

The mattress barely moves when he punches his fist into it.

" _Fuck_ ," Poe mutters.

She had run away from him like the room was on fire. Told him there was someone else and then… No, if he was going to do a full recap he might as well be thorough. She had kissed him like he was the last man left in the galaxy and _then_ she had confessed there was someone else and run away from him.

Twisting he shifts to sit on the edge of the pile of mattresses, resting his elbows on his knees. It was too much for him. First his friend going silent and now this… He closes his eyes but all he can see is her under him, her hand pinned by his next to her face. Their fingers intertwined, the black outline of the snake on the inside of her bicep staring at him with its red eyes.

He opens his eyes wide, staring into the darkness.

A snake. Her tattoo - the one he’d thought was just geometric lines, was a snake. Biting its own tail.

It was an ouroboros.

He’s standing before he knows it, hand outstretched like there’s something in the room he might grab on too. There was someone he knew who had told him that they had an ouroboros tattoo. It couldn’t be that common could it? What were the chances, of all the people on all the ships, all those who had and hadn’t made it - that there was another person walking around with an ouroboros tattoo.

Slim to none.

Then it dawned on him. If he was right, and he was pretty sure he was, then the 'someone else’ in her life was _him_.

He nearly laughs at that. It would be funny if it wasn’t so damned tragic. All this time, all this back and forth about who his friend might be and he’d managed to claim her within ten seconds of meeting her. And yet he can’t even pretend to be shocked by it. Some part of him had known, had reached out for her at every opportunity.

And he’d be damned before he let her get away from him.

He scoops his flashlight up as he goes by, flicking it off and tucking it into his belt. He doesn’t need it, is out in the sunlight in a few seconds, running across the jungle floor at a sprint. He grabs the first person he sees, a new recruit. "Commander Taskebah? Have you seen her?"

The Lieutenant shakes his head and Poe looks around, trying to figure out where she might have gone. To the right are the majority of the X-Wings, pilots and mechanics working in tandem. Ahead of him was the Command Center, the first underground bunker they had gotten online. And to his left, Chewie was working with Rey on the _Falcon_.

She was nowhere to be seen. At least for the moment. He sets his jaw and a calculating smile crawls across his face. She couldn’t hide from him forever. Not here.

A sharp series of trills interrupts his musing and he grins down at BB-8. "Hey buddy, how’s training going?"

The droid goes into a long list of things Rey has been up to - balancing rocks, laser sword fighting, meditation. While he wasn’t exactly _happy_ that his his droid had found a new owner, he also couldn’t begrudge Rey the companionship.

"Buddy, buddy, stop," he interrupts as BB-8 tries to tell him about Rey’s sleep schedule. "That’s none of my business."

Giving a low whistle the droid rolls towards him a little and Poe smiles as he crouches down and taps a few of the droid’s sensors. Then a thought occurs.

"You haven’t seen Commander Taskebah have you?"

An affirmative whistle.

"Oh buddy, I knew you’d come through for me. Where?"

The droid took off and Poe followed, ducking around low hanging branches and pushing through ferns. Wherever BB-8 was going it was definitely the most _direct_ route. After a minute they come to a large tree, just on the outskirts of the base. The droid gives a low whistle and Poe looks around.

"I don’t see-" the droid’s movements cuts him off and BB-8 gently rolls against a large root, stretching up out of sight. "Up there?" He whispers and the droid flashes its light in the affirmative. "Thanks."

It’s an easy climb, roots bigger around than a Wookie tangling together, and about ten feet off the jungle floor is a fairly flat area. She’s sitting there, hugging her knees to her chest, forehead resting on them. He tries to be quiet, thinking of a way to approach her, but his boots slips - making a loud skidding noise - and from the ground BB-8 calls up worriedly.

She doesn’t move, but he hears a large sigh from her general direction.

"I’m okay pal," he calls down. Cautiously moving her direction, he sits a few feet away, in her line of sight. "Taske-"

"Don’t," her voice is raw. She sounded like she’d been crying. "I’ve asked you not to call me that."

He hesitates. "What about calling you my Friend?" He sees her shoulders shudder but she doesn’t look at him. It hits him. "You already knew." Silence from her. "When? When did you figure it out?"

"On the _Falcon_. Or maybe… maybe right after."

"So then when you said there was someone else… there’s someone _else_ someone else?"

"No," she whispers. "Just you. Always you."

His heart swelled at that but this was all wrong. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. "I’m not sure exactly what’s going on but I feel like this should be a happier moment than it currently is."

She laughs, looking up at him and he was right - she had been crying. "I _am_ happy."

"Ah," he nods, moving a little closer to her. "So these are happy tears?"

"Some of them," she replies. He shifts a little closer again, his knee almost touching her foot.

"And that’s happy sniffling?"

"Yes."

He nods at her. "Can we perhaps try happy hugging?"

She sags a little, her face going soft. "Poe…"

"Say that again," he reaches for her and his heart soars when she doesn’t move away.

"Poe Dameron, my friend." He gathers her to him, pulling her between his legs and pressing his cheek to hers, his lips to her ear.

"I could listen to you say my name all day," he whispers. She twists in his arms and he has to resist the urge to hold her tighter, stop her from leaving. But she doesn’t, just moves her legs out of the way and wraps her arms around his neck.

"Poe."

He didn’t know how long they sat like that, how long they held each other. The warm breeze made tendrils of her hair tickle his face. Birds sang up in the trees, unseen. And the shifting sun peeked through the leaves to bathe them both in a golden glow. Neither of them moves, neither says another word. They just hold each other and let the universe settle into its rhythm, turning around them.

But the universe doesn’t stop, not even for them, and before he let her go he _really_ needed to know why she was crying. Why she had run.

"Sweetheart?" He cups his hand around her cheek, pulling back so he can lean his forehead to hers. "How do I fix whatever’s broken?

"I don’t know, I think I need time to just - figure this out."

"Figure what out?" His brows draw together and he pulls back to look into her face, hoping to find answers.

She’s looking at his chin when she replies. "When there were two of you it wasn’t this scary. Now… one accident and I’ve lost you both."

"You do understand there’s just the one me right?" He grins.

She rolls her eyes and finally looks up at him. "No, there’s two of you. One I’ve known for five months and one I’ve known for five _days_."

"It’s been a little longer than five days."

"I’m not counting _Home One_."

"Still it’s been," he stops to count backwards. Difficult to do when there’s not many sunrises and the days had run so long. "Shit, what’s today?" She glares and he tries the math again. "It’s been at _least_ 8 days."

"That’s- That’s not-" She stutters over the words. "That’s not that much better. You see that right?"

"I just discovered the friend I was falling hard for and the woman I was falling even faster for are the same person. I don’t know about you but I’m overjoyed."

She tilts her head, a wondering look in her eyes. "Are you not having trouble with this at _all_?"

"No," he shrugs. "I wanted it to be you from the first moment we met."

All of the tension drains off of her. Closing her eyes she swallows. "If you say things like that to me I’m going to forget why I need time."

"Really?" He grins, "Well, I _was_ starting to feel a little guilty. Pursuing you in the flesh while being in lo-" her hand cuts him off, clapping across his mouth.

"Don’t say it." She glares, but there’s not real menace behind it. "Don’t even _think_ about saying it right now. I can’t think when you talk like that."

His lips twitch and he gently licks the center of her palm. She jerks her hand away and he leans forward, nuzzling his nose to hers. "Okay, I won’t say it. Yet."


	12. Chapter 12

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Sent: 34/08/08 19.08.35_

> Why don’t we finally get that dinner Gorgeous?

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/08/08 19.10.23_

<end of message>

You’d heard the expression 'go kick rocks' before, but never actually done it. You get it now. There was something very satisfying about watching the small stones fly across the jungle floor. Disappearing into the ferns.

Sleeping on the issue hadn’t really helped. Nor did knowing that at least you were both - mostly - on the same page. You kick another rock and hear a slight thud, a muffled _ouch_.

"Sorry," you call out.

"You might as well come over here," the voice calls back and you freeze, groaning as you identify who it belongs to. Oh no, oh no no no. Your luck couldn’t be that bad. You push your way through a set of vines and see your worst nightmare.

General Leia Organa, hero of the Republic, the highest ranking person in the Resistance, rubbing her calf slightly and tilting her head at you. "I’m _so_ sorry," you mumble.

"No harm done," she replies with a slight smile, eyes going past you as though she’s looking for something in the trees. "Is there a reason you’re throwing rocks about, child?"

"Kicking," you correct. "I was kicking rocks," you explain and she nods in acknowledgement.

"Any particular reason?"

"I was thinking," you offer lamely. "Kicking rocks and thinking."

"Do you want to talk about it?" The older woman’s face is kind, making the offer unreservedly.

Sighing, you gratefully perch on to the log next to her. "I think you may be one of the only people left I _can_ talk to."

She pats your knee softly, then rests her hands atop her cane. "We haven’t had a chance to talk much about things lately have we?"

"No ma’am," you reply, slumping next to her.

"It’s been…" she trails off, gazing off into the trees.

"Over a year," you finish.

"No," she looks at you, "that long?"

"Yes ma’am." Silence settles over the two of you and you breathe deeply. A slight noise sounds in the distance and you cock your head. "What is that?"

"Jedi training." She says it like it’s an answer unto itself - and not a phrase that raises a thousand new questions.

"Ah," you grunt, not really knowing what else to say.

"What’s troubling you my dear?" Her voice is gentle. Something you’d never quite get used to.

"I’ve made a mistake I think," it barely comes out as a whisper, afraid of what her reaction would be. "I’ve… I’ve let someone too close to me."

"There’s no such thing," Leia quickly counters.

"You know that’s not true." The words hang there between you, harsher than you had intended but you wouldn’t call them back.

She sighs at your statement, hanging her head for a moment. "No, it’s not."

"And with everything… I don’t know how I can both serve and…"

"Be with the man you love?" She finishes for you when you trail off. Glancing at her from the corner of your eye you see the wistful look on her face. Perhaps she understands more than you thought she might. And you were telling the truth when you sat down. There was probably only one person left in the universe that you could talk to without reservations.

"How did you do it?" you ask. "How did you balance your duties to the Republic and your own heart?" It felt good to say it out loud, finally. To acknowledge it.

"Oh child," she sighs, "I don’t think I did." Silence again, both of you staring off into the distance. You see her fingers tap gently along her cane the top of her cane, her brow furrowed in thought, lost in the memories. Another deep sigh before she speaks again. "However, Poe is not Han. He’s as committed to the Resistance as any of us - perhaps more so. With Han, it was always a fight. Always a negotiation."

You freeze, then finally turn to look at her fully. "You know?"

Her side-eyed glance is full of mischief. "He wears his heart on his sleeve my dear. I don’t think there’s anyone here who _doesn’t_ know how he feels about you."

A small answering smile curls your lips, "He’s pretty great isn’t he?"

She nods, "One of the best men I’ve ever known." She gives you a serious look, "And he deserves a great love, one for the ages."

Your eyes meet hers and your smile fades. "I don’t think that’s me," you admit.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I can’t tell him the truth, can I?" Your brows pull together, hand rising to touch the medallion at your neck. "Not all of it."

"No," she agrees solemnly, "you can’t. Not yet."

"So what do I do?"

"Love him," the answer is simple and she lets it sit between you while you turn the words over in your mind. "Love him like you both deserve. And we will take tomorrow when tomorrow comes."

"That seems short-sighted," you point out.

"I prefer pragmatic," she corrects and then smiles when you snort a laugh.

The sounds of Jedi training gets closer and you stand. "I should go before…. Whatever that is gets here."

"It’s not necessary," she tells you.

You shrug and turn to walk away. Stopping you look back at her, "Thank you."

"Of course."

You don’t see anyone as you make your way back to your quarters. Actually, that wasn’t correct. You don’t see _him_ and that’s really all you’re worried about. _Love him_ , Leia had said. As though it were that simple. As though there wasn’t the entire force of the Resistance’s secrets between you. As though you didn’t already.

In your quarters you check your comm pad, see the message from him. Smiling softly to yourself you send your reply - waiting a few minutes to see if there’s an immediate response. Then, exhausted, you lay down and fall asleep almost immediately.

You dream of a snake with three heads.

You dream of the son.

You dream of the heir.

You dream of the ghost.

You dream of _him_.

Of his eyes. Of his hands. Of how his lips had formed around the word "love." In your dream you let him finish, hear him tell you it a hundred times.

It’s not enough.

You wake up feeling only marginally better - the loud blare of your alarm telling you it’s time for dinner. A glance at the comm pad shows an enthusiastic response to your own - and directions on where to meet him.

You were going on a date with Poe Dameron. And you were going to have to tell him… something. You think about the problem as you take a shower, bundling yourself in a towel and hurrying bare feet across cold stone back to your quarters. You think about it as you brush your hair and put on fresh pants and a shirt, tying the front tails in a knot rather than tucking it in. It looks… more casual.

And you think about it as you make your way around the edge of the flight line, looking for the X-Wing serial number you were given. You see BB-8 before you see the ship, rocking back and forth next to a pair of brown boots. You can’t see who they’re attached to but you’d bet anything it was Poe.

 _Poe_.

You weren’t sure you’d ever get used to calling him that. P for Poe. Giggling, you duck around the edge of the ship and freeze.

There’s a large crate set up as a table, two shorter boxes pulled up to it. Poe is holding a candle out to the little droid to light. He looks up at you and you see his face lights up in a way that’s nothing to do with the flame. His eyes are soft, his smile radiating such pure joy you feel yourself choke up.

"You’re late," he chides, standing up fully and quickly setting the candle down on the table.

"You’re Splendid," you reply.

His lips part at that, his gaze turning somehow even warmer, and he takes a step forward. Gathering you to him he kisses you briefly, sweetly, and then leans his forehead against yours. You both stay like that, holding each other for a few long breaths before he moves away, tugging you by your hand to the waiting boxes.

"For dinner tonight we have minced rack of meat from the northern region of D’Qar in a brown gravy reduction, served with a side of sautéed vegetables."

"This looks like dinner rations," you point out.

"Hush," he scolds, guiding you to one of the low boxes. "To pair with it I have a lovely vintage of dihydrogen monoxide, canted just this morning," he picks up a canteen and fills a short cup with water, winking at you. "And for dessert, fruit from the mysterious jungles of Ajan Kloss."

"Fruit someone has hopefully tested and is suitable for eating?" You ask dubiously.

"Of course," he scoffs. "Who do you think I am?"

"Someone who once ate GunGun berries on a dare."

He freezes in the act of filling his own cup, then sits down with a snort. "I forget you already know everything about me."

"A lot of things, yes." You answer with a sly grin. But it turns out not everything. Over the course of the next hour you learn more about him. About his childhood on Yavin IV. About his rebellious teenage years. About what he’s hoped and yearned for as a child. And yes, finally, what happened to the chipped red blaster.

Whenever he tries to turn the conversation to you you duck it adeptly, telling highly sanitized tales or simply waving off the questions. You can tell he sees through you, but he lets you do it and you’re grateful for it. As the candle light flickers lower he moves the remains of dinner from between you, stacking the cartons to the side and taking your hands in his.

"Dinner was great, thank you," you tell him when he finishes.

"We’re not done yet. BB-8!" He looks over your shoulder and you turn and see the droid. You had forgotten he was here actually. BB-8 does a small spin in place and then you hear music.

"Are you…" you turn back to Poe. "Are you kidding me?"

He grins and stands, holding his hand out to you. "May I have this dance?"

You laugh as you take it, letting him twirl you into an exaggerated spin before he pulls you close, his arm around your waist and the other cupping one of your hands to his chest. You rest your free hand on his shoulder, leaning into him slightly as you gently sway to a song in a language you don’t recognize.

"What’s this song about?" You murmur into his chest.

"An Andalorian farmer. He meets the girl of his dreams but she leaves him heartbroken and bereft. Knowing he’ll never love again he builds a temple to her then burns it down."

You freeze, then slowly lift your head up to look at him. ”I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended.”

Poe has a disgruntled look on his face. “I think a mixture of both is probably appropriate here.” He glances over at BB-8, "This is what you picked?"

The droid whistles over the music and you giggle. He looks back at you and his faintly perturbed look melts off him, replaced by a goofy smile. He lowers his head to kiss you and you remember your resolve. That you weren’t going to let this get any more complicated without telling him at least some of the truth.

He must sense your hesitation because he reorients himself, sliding his cheek against yours instead. "There’s no rush," he whispers, "I just like being with you."

"Poe," you whisper but he pulls you tighter.

"I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I know this whole thing has been rough for you."

You don’t say anything to that. He’s not wrong, first of all. And second, correcting him would mean telling him the real reason for your hesitation and if this day had proven anything it was that you had no idea how to broach that topic.

And so, when the song ends and he brushes a kiss across your forehead you don’t say anything. Don’t bring up the topics you know you should. And when he holds your hand and walks you back to the entrance to your bunker you walk in silence. Nothing but the feel of his hand in yours and the soft sounds of the night shift.

And you lay in bed and stare at the ceiling and kick yourself for not taking the opportunity. _This is only going to get more difficult_ , you think, staring at the ceiling above your bunk. _These things get bigger the longer they fester_. You groan, rolling over and punching your pillow. There was no world in which you could tell him everything.

 _You could tell him_ some _things_ , a small voice inside you whispers. Not _everything_. You couldn’t tell him everything. But you could tell him _some_ things. Mentally you went through your list, sifted through your own secrets and those of the Resistance. There were things you could say that wouldn’t put any of the oaths you had taken, the promises you had made, in jeopardy.

You sit bolt upright in your bed, quickly rolling off the side and feeling your feet slap against the cold stone. If you didn’t do this now you were never going to. Forget everything else in the galaxy - you wanted him. And if that meant going down to his quarters right this very moment - while you still had your courage - then so be it.

 _Love him_ , Leia had said.

You were ready to.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has explicit sexual content.

The knock on the door startles Poe out of his review of the daily logs. Sitting up and tossing the data pad on to the bed he runs a hand through his hair before answering.

"Yes?" The door slides open and she’s standing there. He can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. "Oh, hi."

"Hi." She steps inside, letting the door close. She looks uncomfortable, shifting her weight from foot to foot, and he puts his hands in his pockets - trying to look as unthreatening as possible. His bare feet should help with that. Nothing threatening about a man with no shoes. "There’s something I wanted to say. And I’ve been putting it off but I-"

"Would you like a drink?"

She jerks her head to him. "What?"

"Would you like a drink," he moves then, crossing to the locker by his desk. "Chewbacca brought me this great bottle of rum from Kinyen." He holds the bottle aloft, raising an eyebrow at her. She nods and he goes digging through his locker for a set of glasses. "You know what?" He continues conversationally, "I’ve figured out what the problem is between us."

She froze, "You have?"

"Yep," he responds cheerily. "You’re nervous about having sex with me."

"I’m _what_?" He grins and looks back over his shoulder at her, pleased to have figured it out.

"You’re nervous. You’ve heard some rumors - none of them true by the way - and it’s made you nervous."

She cocks her head at him, going quiet for a minute. "That’s what’s going on? I’m afraid of having sex with you?"

"Nervous," he corrects. "Not afraid. We’re also at about nine different spots in this relationship all at once and it’s confusing."

"Ah." He nods to himself at her response, standing and turning away from her to place the glasses on his desk, peeling the foil seal off the stopper of the bottle.

"So here’s what we’re going to do. I have a four part plan." He cleans one of the glasses with the hem of his shirt, making a mental note that that one would be his.

"Four parts?" Her voice sounds a little muffled behind him and his lips quirk as he imagines her hiding a blush at how forward he’s being.

"Yes. First, we’re going to take things slowly, get to know each other as real people and not just data. Maybe go on some walks in the jungle. A few more dances." The cork releases from the bottle with a pop and the smell of chorba fruit fills the room.

"What’s step four?"

"No, don’t jump ahead. We have to go through steps two and three first." He measures out the rum, then adds a splash extra to hers. No reason to be stingy.

"Do we?"

He picks the glasses up and turns, "Yes we…" His jaw drops. "Did you not hear me about the plan?"

"Oh I heard you." She’s standing in the middle of his quarters, her clothes in a pile near her feet, completely and beautifully nude. As he watches she reaches up and pulls at her hair, letting it fall around her neck.

She takes a step towards him and he swallows, gripping the cups in his hands like they might provide some sort of lifeline. He’s trying to look at her face. Trying not to stare at the bare skin and fucking _hell_ she’s putting one finger on the center of his chest and he takes a step back, knees hitting the chair behind him and he sits with a thud.

"Are you nervous?" He asks.

"No." She settles herself into his lap like she does this sort of thing every day. Sitting up straight, her thighs spread over his. She twines her arms around his neck and he reaches for her, suddenly remembering the rum in his hands and he scrambles to set them on the table nearby. She giggles as she presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw, licking slowly down his neck.

He nearly comes out of his skin.

What is he supposed to do with his hands? Every bit of her available seems like it’s too much, too forward, a sacrilege to place his calloused and scarred hands on her. She seems to have no such compunction. Her fingers have unbuttoned his shirt to the waist, her hands pushing it off his shoulders and he shrugs out of it. His eyes can’t seem to leave her face, watching as she caresses his skin. Watching her lips part slightly.

"You can touch me you know."

He groans and his hands lift slowly to glide up her back. She shudders in his arms and he brings her tighter to him, her breasts skimming his chest. Her lips touch his and he brings one hand around, trailing his fingers up her stomach then across her breast. She gasps into his mouth and he deepens the kiss, thrusting his tongue into her and cupping her breast in his palm.

"You’re so soft," he can’t help the note of wonder in his voice.

"And _wet_ ," she murmurs. His whole body jerks. At the mental image, at the invitation.

Slowly, he moves his hand between her legs, nearly coming undone at the slickness he finds. He pets her for a moment, feeling her squirm before he finds her center and sinks one finger deep inside of her.

He groans, burying his mouth against her shoulder, "Fucking _Maker._ "

Her lips fan across his temple slightly, her body shifting in his lap. "It’s, uh, it’s been a while."

"How long?" He mumbles, the words nearly lost in the heat of her skin.

"Years," she admits and he feels something inside of him lurch at the quiet words. She says them without hesitation, and he feels the need to meet her with the same honesty.

"Me too," he confesses and she relaxes slightly in his arms, breath releasing in a soft puff, her muscles easing around him and his finger sinks further inside of her.

"You’re not nervous are you?" She giggles as she asks and _Maker_ he can feel her inner muscles clench along his finger when she does.

He bites her shoulder, moving his hand back and slipping a second finger alongside the first. He’s searching, seeking, trying to find the places that make her moan. Make her writhe. He watches her face, watches her lips part and the way her throat flutters around the small pants of air she’s making.

"There?" He asks, twisting inside of her. She bites her lips and nods and he can’t help the grin on his face. "Or… there?" This time her breath stops for a second and he does it again. And again. Her hands are gripping his shoulders, her brow furrowed as though she’s concentrating very hard.

"Tell me Gorgeous," he leans forward and nuzzles his nose against her nipple before circling it with his tongue. "Tell me how you like it." He thrusts up suddenly, pressing his fingers inside her, "Hard?" He pulls them back slowly, gently stroking along her walls, "Soft?"

"Oh fuck," the words fall from her lips like a prayer and he watches her. Watches her face contort. Watches her swallow. "More."

He smiles, "More of what?"

"More of everything _,"_ she gasps it, pulling his face to hers and kissing him like her life depends on it. He rewards it, twisting his hand slightly so he can press his thumb against the tight bundle of nerves that will make her come apart for him. Moving his hand in a gentle rhythmic motion that seems to drive her wild.

"Poe," she gasps and his hips buck upwards. He would _never_ get tired of hearing her say his name. Especially like that. That breathy moan.

"Come for me sweetheart," he whispers against her lips and she does. Gloriously. Rocking her hips against his hand and biting back a muffled cry. He holds her through it, thrusting his tongue into her mouth in tempo with his fingers, feels the noises she makes reverberate into his bones. When he’s sure she’s back with him he gently removes his hand, gripping her thigh instead. Her breath slowly evens back out, her chest pressing to his.

"You finally didn’t leave me wanting," she whispers.

He freezes, then grunts. "Just because you don’t appreciate my story-telling style…" he grumbles. She giggles and cups his face in her hands, softly kissing the corners of his mouth. "Are you," he clears his throat, "finished then? It’s fine if you are." He rushes to reassure her.

"Poe?"

"Yes?"

"Take me to bed."

She stands when he does, his shirt left in the chair behind them. Their fingers fumble together against his belt, the fastenings of his pants. He steps out of them as they drop to the floor, crawling over her as she falls back into his bed. He pauses, propped on his arms above her, taking in her flushed skin, the rise and fall of her breasts, the smile on her face. He can feel his own smile mirroring hers.

"You’re gorgeous," he whispers.

"You’re one to talk."

Oh, he loved this woman. Now wasn’t the time to tell her, that day would come soon enough. But right now, her arms are reaching up to him and he settles into the cradle of her body with a soft moan. Reaching down, he hooks one of her thighs up and over his hip, spreading her open for him.

"Is this where I’m supposed to get nervous?"

He snorts, dropping his head to her shoulder before lifting it to glare at her. "You’re not going to let me forget that are you?"

"Nev _ahh-_ " he slides into her as she responds, pressing forward in one long smooth slide.

"What were you saying?" He asks, unable to keep the note of smugness from his voice.

"Nothing, nothing at all. Please don’t stop."

"Not in a million years," he whispers, pressing his lips to hers in a promise. One he intends on keeping. He can feel his hair falling over his brow, into his eyes. She reaches up and pushes it back, the gesture so tender he feels his heart crack.

When he begins to move he does so slowly, meticulously. Sliding inside her with steady strokes, pressing deep before pulling out and doing it again. He can feel her body with his, feel every flutter of her muscles, the slight rake of her nails on his back as her breathing speeds up. He doesn’t hurry, doesn’t vary his pace. Not even when her legs wrap around his waist, her body arching up into his.

"Please," she moans and he shifts his arms, moving one hand into her hair, the other resting on her throat, titling her face to his.

"You feel so good Sweetheart," her muscles clench at his words and he thrusts hard for a second, unable to help himself. She squeaks when he does, her eyes going wide.

"Please," she says again and this time there is a more plaintive note to it.

"Mmm," he hums, tracing his fingers down to her breast, gently tweaking the nipple. "I feel ashamed. I’ve neglected these poor beauties."

"Poe…" she moans and the single syllable drags out when he dips his mouth down and pulls her nipple between his lips, flicking his tongue against the hard bud. Her fingers clench into his hair, holding him to her while her back arches.

But he doesn’t quicken his pace. Just feasts himself on her body all the while continuing the slow steady rhythm of his hips. She tries to twist beneath him and he catches her hip with his hand, pressing her back to the mattress. She whines his name and he nips at her, loving how she jerks beneath him, how her legs wrap even tighter around him.

He makes love to her. Shows her with his body what she won’t let him say. And when her moans become more breathless he slips his hand between them to show her _exactly_ how good it can be. Circling his finger just so, listening intently to the sound of her breathing until he finds exactly the right spot, the right cadence. She comes apart in his arms, calling his name over and over. He shuts his eyes, tries to block out the sound of it, the feel of her, the bone deep satisfaction of having her be his. But when she traces her fingers down his back, presses her lips to his ear and whispers "Alabanza Poe," his control snaps.

Roughly, barely able to hold himself steady, he pulls her arms from him, pressing his hands palm to palm with hers on the bed. Using the leverage to thrust inside her hard and deep. Watches her face while he chases his own pleasure. She returns his gaze, never wavering. Even as he sees the pleasure clawing up inside her again, feels his own taking over, she never stops looking at him.

He could drown in those eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven’t had a chance to see this amazing clip of Oscar Isaac putting his fingers to use then boy have I got a treat for you: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mDM32iuSzu4  
> [Graphic implications - not actually graphic.]


	14. Chapter 14

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/16 11.09.10_

> You have to stop calling me Commander Gorgeous at Command. It’s embarrassing.
> 
> <3

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_ _Received: 34/08/16 11.11.25_

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<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Sent: 34/08/16 11.15.32_

> How else are people supposed to know who I’m talking to?
> 
> -p

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_ _Received: 34/08/16 11.17.54_

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<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/16 11.20.57_

> You could use my name.

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_ _Received: 34/08/16 11.21.42_

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<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Sent: 34/08/16 11.25.36_

> But you hate your name.

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_ _Received: 34/08/16 11.27.43_

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<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/16 11.30.41_

> I hate being embarrassed in front of Command even more. Stop it.

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Received: 34/08/16 11.32.57_

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<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Sent: 34/08/16 11.32.04_

> But then how will people know who the most beautiful person in the Resistance is?
> 
> -p

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_ _Received: 34/08/16 11.33.31_

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<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/08/16 11.36.11_

> We’ll just tell them she’s with the sexiest person. They’ll figure it out.
> 
> <3

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Received: 34/08/16 11.38.22_

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<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/09/07 08.54.50  
_

> My dearest, my darling, love and light of my life…
> 
> If you leave a wet towel over the foot of the bed again I swear I will murder you.
> 
> <3

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Received: 34/09/07 08.56.04_

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<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Sent: 34/09/07 08.58.08_

> Maybe if you didn’t leave your clothes scattered over the rest of my furniture I would have a place to put my towel.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/09/07 09.01.13_

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<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/09/07 09.07.09_

> I could start leaving my clothes on my body, thus saving your furniture.
> 
> <3

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Received: 34/09/07 09.09.55_

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<beginning of message>

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_ _Sent: 34/09/07 09.13.28_

> I’m putting in a requisition order for another chair,

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_Received: 34/09/07 09.15.48_

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<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Sent: 34/09/29 17.48.33_

> What did you do to my droid?
> 
> -p

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_Received: 34/09/29 17.50.20_

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<beginning of message>

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_Sent: 34/09/29 17.55.52_

> I don’t know what you’re talking about.
> 
> <3

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_Received: 34/09/29 17.58.03_

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<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/09/29 18.01.32_

> HE’S GOT A DENT.

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/09/29 18.03.26_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/09/29 18.04.42_

> WHY DO YOU THINK IT’S MY FAULT?

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/09/29 18/06.26_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/09/29 18.10.23_

> He ratted you out darling.

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/09/29 18.13.15_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/09/29 18.20.48_

> … Please tell BB-8 to come by Command at his earliest convenience.

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/09/29 18.22.04_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜  
⊻⋝⋕⋉⊿⋝ ⊽⩒⩘ ⩡⩑⋝  
⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Sent: 34/11/13 23.12.41_

> I’ll be back tomorrow night. Have you missed me?
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/11/13 23.16.49_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/11/13 23.19.45_

> Oh? Were you gone? I hadn’t noticed.
> 
> <3

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Received: 34/11/13 23.24.02_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Sent: 34/11/13 23.27.20_

> Cruel woman! A blaster bolt straight through my heart!
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/11/13 23.31.44_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/11/13 23.37.40_

> Come straight to your quarters when you get back. I got a delivery in from that place we talked about.
> 
> <3

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Received: 34/11/13 23.41.20_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/11/13 23.50.50_

> YES MA’AM.

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/11/13 23.55.33_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜  
⊻⋝⋕⋉⊿⋝ ⊽⩒⩘ ⩡⩑⋝  
⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Sent: 34/12/19 14.34.58_

> I little birdie told me you got promoted. Congratulations.
> 
> <3

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/12/19 14.36.34_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/12/19 14.40.14_

> The birdie was right. You’ll have to start calling me 'Sir' again.

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Received: 34/12/19 14.42.17_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Sent: 34/12/19 14.48.12_

> Oh? Should I put on the lacy blue thing to celebrate tonight? Sir?
> 
> <3

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/12/19 14.50.41_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 34/12/19 14.55.26_

> Sweetheart, you can’t say things like that to me. I have a briefing in five minutes and now I can’t walk straight.

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/12/19 14.57.04_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Sent: 34/12/19 15.01.23_

> That seems like a you problem.
> 
> <3

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/12/19 15.04.15_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _   
_ _Sent: 34/12/19 15.37.42_

> I love you so much.

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 34/12/19 15.39.00_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜  
⊻⋝⋕⋉⊿⋝ ⊽⩒⩘ ⩡⩑⋝  
⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Sent: 35/01/01 00.00.03_

> Happy New Year My Love.
> 
> <3

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/01/01 00.02.09_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀ _  
_ _Sent: 35/01/01 00.00.07_

> Happy New Year Gorgeous.

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/01/01 00.02.11_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/01/01 00.03.19_

> You beat me by 4 seconds.
> 
> Maker, I love you.

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/01/01 00.04.54_

<end of message>


	15. Chapter 15

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 655._ ⋊⊿ _.21.47_ ⩟ _01_ ⩝  
_Sent: 35/01/07 16.30.11_

> What do you need?

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/01/07 16.43.20_

<end of message>

You stretch lazily under the pile of blankets, reaching out your hand for a heat source but encountering only cold sheets. Grumbling, you pull your arm back and tuck yourself into a ball to conserve warmth.

"Rise and shine sleepy."

"Mrmm," is your only response, pulling the covers up to your nose and turning away from the voice. Poe Dameron awoke with absolutely no need for caf. No need for stimulants. He was asleep and then he was awake.

It was dark magic and you didn’t trust it.

"C’mon Sweetheart," you feel a tug on the blanket and grip it tighter. "I have something for you."

"I know what you have for me," you mumble.

He laughs and you feel him shift, the unmistakable smell of fresh caf wafting to your nose. You turn and sit up in one motion, reaching your hands out. He holds it away, raising an eyebrow at you and pursing his lips. "I feel like my honor has been unjustly impugned."

"Give me the cup."

He sighs and passes it over, "You only use me as a delivery boy."

"You love it," you tell him, not lifting your lips from the mug.

He winks at you and gets up, crossing the room to the desk and moving it against the far wall. He stands there for a moment, hands on his hips. "We need more space."

"You need fewer shoes," you mutter.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." He hums to himself, moving back and forth slightly. Shifts the table a few inches. Then puts it back. You sigh and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, crossing to him. Wrapping your arms around his waist from behind you perch your chin on his shoulder.

"What’s got you all kerfuddled this morning?"

He leans back into you, covering your hands with one of his. "I was just thinking, there’s larger quarters, family quarters. For the refugees before they get moved on."

You make a listening noise, distracted by the warm skin of his neck. His skin is smooth, he must have just shaved, and there’s a small nick just behind his jaw. You lick it, loving how he jerks in your arms when you do.

"The General is looking for some people to move to that bunker. To be onhand."

You ghost your lips against his neck, feeling his slightly damp hair against your cheek.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Mmhmm," you mutter, "you’re asking me to move in with you."

He freezes in your arms and then you feel him let out a giant whoosh of breath. "Yes. I am."

"I only have one question," he turns as you speak, sliding his hands around your waist.

"What is it?"

"Do these new quarters have a towel rack?"

An hour later, you still weren’t sure what the answer to that was. What you did have was a pulled muscle in your thigh and a smile on your face.

The morning passes swiftly. On your end, you’re preparing Command for a raid on a First Order outpost on Ossus, contacting people on the ground to get recent troop movements, hacking into orbital comms units to see if you can get a better idea of the First Orders fleet in the atmosphere above. You know that out on the flight line, Poe is getting Cobalt Squadron off the ground. Giving final orders and words of encouragement. He’ll stay out there until the last ship enters hyperspace, then he’ll come down to Command to monitor with the rest of the senior officers.

When he arrives it’s with a saunter. His eyes immediately find yours and he winks and you have to hide a smile, monitoring your comms for the signal they’re all waiting for. Long minutes pass, the only movement the passing of people behind you and the occasional ping of ground radar. Finally, a blip on your end.

"Cobalt Squadron locked in," you announce to the room. As one, the people gathered around the tactical station stand up straighter.

Between you and the man next to you you’re monitoring more than a dozen channels. The squadron, the comms relays, two different outposts on the ground, an Inusagi freighter who has radar on the field, along with several other channels in the sector. As senior officer you can relay information direct to the tactical station when necessary, or funnel it through the tactical team if it’s non-urgent.

So when the call comes through about a Dreadnaught, you’re the one who has the responsibility of sending it on. You’re the one who has to watch the faces of the gathered officers fall. You update their screens, the dozens of tie-fighters that have joined the fight, the blip that means Cobalt 3 has been lost. It’s your job to send the information on, to sort through the traffic and try to give them what they need to make their decisions.

At the next console over, flight ops are struggling to keep up with relaying orders to the squadron and without checking in you switch the channel to the room at large - letting the senior officers talk directly to them. There’s too many enemy combatants. More than were ever expected. The X-Wings can’t enter hyperspace without disengaging weapons for a few seconds. And every one that tries is picked off immediately.

This wasn’t your op. It wasn’t your mission. You hadn’t gathered the intel. It wasn’t your fault. But as you watch the catastrophe unfold you can’t help but feel responsible. If you had double-checked the information you’d been given, had delved into it more at the briefing yesterday… but no. If you did that for every mission you’d never be able to do anything. You had to trust your fellow officers, had to trust their work. Had to trust that they would keep everyone alive.

You watch Poe’s face as the intel continues to come in and you continue to funnel the updates to him and the other officers. Watch how his jaw clenches, the tension that seeps into him step by step as the lights on the screen blink out - one by one. You don’t need to watch the screens. You can see every moment of the battle etched on his face.

"C’mon," he whispers, eyes glued to one spot. One tiny hope.

When it goes out he’s devastated. There’s no other word for it. He stands there, brows furrowed, for just a moment before leaning down onto his fists against the table and hanging his head. You ache to go to him. To press your hand to his shoulder. To offer what comfort you can. But you still have comms coming in, allies who saw the attack, who are trying to escape the First Order ships.

"Fuck," his low curse echoes around the silent Command center.

Your hands are moving by rote, your eyes on him as he punches the console and then strides out of the room. Silence reigns for just a second before the activity starts again. Quiet murmurs rising from the people around you. A hand on your shoulder.

"Go to him." It’s General Organa, her face a mask of concern.

"Ma’am?"

"Captain Glessop can cover your station. Go to him." You look past her to the young Captain and nod.

"Yes ma’am."

He’s not on the flight line, which is the first place you look. You nod at a few people as you pass them, heading for your quarters. Hoping that he would have sought out the solitude.

When the door slides open he has his back to you, hands in fists at his side. You watch him warily, moving sideways into the room so the door can close behind you. "Poe," you start to say but his snarling voice cuts you off.

"Nine pilots. Nine _fucking_ pilots."

You move to where you can see his face. He’s staring at the far wall, his body held so tightly he’s almost vibrating with it. "Poe it’s-" but you don’t actually have words for him. Don’t actually have anything to say.

"How do we lose _nine people_ in eight minutes?" His voice has risen to a yell, his foot lashing out to kick at the edge of a chair, toppling it to the floor.

"Poe, please. Just, calm down," you hold a hand out in a plea but he ignores it.

"A whole squadron," he growls. "A whole _fucking squadron_." His voice rises on the last two words and he spins suddenly towards you, pushing everything off the desk onto the floor in one sweep. He’s so close you can feel the air move.

You jerk away from him, raising an arm to shield your face and hunching your body in on itself. You’ve never seen him like this. Never seen him this angry. Never seen him in a full rage. But you know what rage means. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, your whole body shaking. You wait, holding your breath.

You wait, for a blow that never comes.


	16. Chapter 16

Poe freezes in place the moment she flinches away from him. He can feel his own heartbeat in his ears, his anger at the universe still pounding inside of him.

But this, this is more important.

"Sweetheart," he starts and reaches out to touch her shoulder but she moves so quickly he’s left with only air.

"We need to-" she starts but her eyes are blank and he can see her breaths coming in short pants. "We need to…" she tries again. She’s a few feet away, eyes wide, looking at him but he’d bet his X-Wing that she’s not actually _seeing_ him.

He lowers his hand slowly, deliberately relaxing his stance, watching her as she tries to fight whatever is happening in her mind.

"What do you need?’ she whispers. His brows draw together at that. She’s still got that blank look on her face.

"What do _I_ need?" He asks incredulously, keeping his voice soft.

She relaxes a tad, some tenseness flowing from her shoulders. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens them she actually meets his eyes. "I’m so sorry. About the squadron. What can I do?" He tilts his head, watching her through narrowed eyes. When he doesn’t say anything she squats down and begins picking up the items he swept to the floor just a few minutes ago.

Cursing, he drops into a crouch next to her, gathering her hands. "Sweetheart what just happened?"

She stares at their joined hands before she looks up at him. "I… don’t know." She swallows. "For a moment it was like you were someone else…"

"I’m sorry," he brings her hands to his lips, kissing the knuckles. "I didn’t mean to frighten you but you have to know I would _never_ hit you. Right?" The last word comes out as more of a plea than a question.

"Of course." Her answer is so fast, said with not a moment’s hesitation that he feels himself relax a little. "But right then, you weren’t _you_. I looked at you and I saw… someone else."

"Who?"

She sighs and stands up and he does the same, not letting go of her hands. "Someone from a long time ago."

"And this person… they hit you?" She nods and his vision goes red. "What’s their name?"

She shakes her head, gripping his fingers. "It’s not important. He’ll never hit me again. I just… I’m sorry. For what just happened. I wanted to try and help you and now we’re talking about me."

"Sweetheart," he tips her chin up with his hand, stroking her neck softly. "Do you think I _don’t_ want a distraction?" She huffs a laugh and he smiles at her. "I mean, this isn’t the one I would have picked but if I can re-route some of this energy into planning the demise of this still nameless person then I think that’s time well spent don’t you?"

"Are you sure?"

"Well, I can either pull everything in the room down or we can make a detailed tactical assessment of how I can murder someone. And I think one of those you’d be more comfortable with." He grins when she finally returns his smile, moving her back and settling her into the desk chair before righting the towel chair and sitting down with his knees touching hers. Picking up her hands he leans forward on his elbows.

"So let’s start with a name," he offers reasonably.

She shakes her head, "No. Maybe… maybe someday but that’s a whole different conversation that I’m not quite ready to have."

"Okay," he nods, "then what can you tell me?"

"There was this boy," she pauses and her brow furrows. "He was my best friend. As far as 'friend’ goes I guess. For years and years my only friend. My brother."

"And he hit you?"

"No," she squeezes his hands and her face became earnest, "You have to understand, our parents _hated_ each other. His dad and my mom - they were _mortal enemies_."

Poe raises an eyebrow. "Some kind of neighbor rivalry?"

She shook her head. "I didn’t - I didn’t have that kind of childhood. When I say enemies I mean - they actually tried to kill each other. Several times in fact."

Poe felt his lips part, his jaw dropping. He hadn’t thought - she was so _nice_. It hadn’t occurred to him that she might not always have had that for herself. He thinks for a minute. "So the person who hit you - he did it because he hated your mom?"

She’s shaking her head again. "No, at least not entirely. His son, my friend - my mom used to look out for him. That’s how I knew him. We grew up together." A pause and he waits, waits for her to continue. "And that only made his father hate us more. He couldn’t beat his son - my mother had already given him an ultimatum about that. But when he could catch me…"

Poe swore. "And your mom didn’t protect you?"

"She didn’t know. And I’m not sure she would have cared. He told me - he told me if I said anything he’d kill- he’d kill my friend. So I never said anything."

"How did you explain it? If he hurt you there must have been…" but she’s giving him the smallest of pitying smiles and he trails off.

"There are a thousand ways to hit someone that don’t leave marks." Looking down at her hands she whispers, "I know most of them."

Poe heard a rumbling, angry noise and realized that he was growling, gritting his teeth. "Tell me who he is." It wasn’t a question this time.

"He’s long dead," she sounded almost wistful, giving him a small smile. "I know you wanted to be the one but I didn’t know you then - couldn’t wait for you."

He grunts, wondering if he might be able to find the body and pulverize it in some other manner. "When you say you couldn’t wait…?"

"There were three of us by then. Someone his father had found - the heir he chose rather than my friend. But she loathed him too. The three of us - it was an uneasy truce but we had one thing in common. We all _hated_ him." She pauses then looks up at him. "That’s where this comes from," she let go of him with one hand and touched her bicep, over where the tattoo sat. "We all got them one day. All of three of us. A reminder."

"What happened?"

"We killed him." Poe froze, fingers sinking into the skin of her hands. With conscious effort he loosened his grip, concentrating on what she was saying. "She found the poison, she was always good at things like that. He picked the time and place. And I… I slipped it into his tea." She smiled a little, "No one ever noticed me, I slipped in and out like a ghost."

"I’m sorry."

"I’m not," the words come out with a bite to them, almost a snarl. She stares blankly past him for a while before he finally breaks the silence.

"What happened to the other two?"

Shrugging, she adjusts her shoulders, leaning back a little in the chair. "We all went on to other things. Different destinies."

"Do you still talk to them?"

She hesitates. "One of them. My first friend. My brother. The other - she died a few months ago."

"I’m sorry."

"Don’t be. She wasn’t a very nice person," sighing, she gives him a half of a smile. "Having shared hatred isn’t really all that much common ground to be honest."

They sit there in silence, knees touching, holding each other’s hands. Poe’s thoughts tumble over each other. Why she never talks about her past. What kind of life she must have led before she joined the Resistance. He squeezes her fingers and feels her do the same. Stroking her hands, he pulls his most urgent concern to the forefront.

"Can I ask you a question?" He ventures.

"Another one?" Her over the top sigh is for comedic effect and his lips twitch as he waits for her real response, which comes a moment later with a smile. "Yes, of course."

"Why didn’t you tell me all this before?" She looks away and he reaches forward and turns her chin back to him. "We talk all the time - about everything. I’ve told you every minute of my childhood. Why did you never tell me any of this?"

"I thought if you knew who I was you’d despise me."

"You thought this would make me _despise_ you?" He takes a chance then, reaching forward and picking her up, moving her so she was in his chair with him, sitting in his lap. "Darling there is nothing you’ve said today that doesn’t make me love you more."

"I killed someone," she says it quietly, with trepidation.

"And I’ve killed dozens. Tie fighter pilots, stormtroopers - we’re at war. I don’t have to like it to see the necessity in it."

"Yeah, but that’s _war,_ " she echoes. "I killed in cold blood."

"Well, I can tell you right now - if you hadn’t I would have." The venom in his voice should have taken him aback. But he means it. If there ever there was a man who deserved to die this one sounded like it.

She sighs at that, turning her head to rest on his shoulder. "I don’t deserve you Poe Dameron."

"You’re right," he responds and laughs when he can actually feel her roll her eyes at him, her eyelashes fluttering against the skin of his neck. "You deserve an ace pilot with a taste for bad jokes. A hero of the Resistance who loves you more than anything else in the galaxy."

"Mm," she leans into him. "Can they have a nice ass and a pretty face too?"

"Well, if you want to be greedy," he responds before nuzzling his nose against her hair. "I was thinking maybe he - sorry _they_ \- could write you letters for a while, tricking you into falling in love with them. Then swoop in while you’re weak and defenseless and carry you off somewhere and give you so much pleasure you can’t see straight."

"If only such a paragon of virtuosity existed," she sighs forlornly.

"Oh," he replies in mock seriousness, "I think we can find someone."

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/01/10 13.12.34_

> Did you pull special Colonel privileges for these quarters? Be honest with me.
> 
> <3

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/01/10 13.16.45_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/01/10 13.34.09_

> I am shocked you think I would do such a thing. SHOCKED.
> 
> Col. P. Dameron

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/01/10 13.36.36_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/01/10 13.40.56_

> So that’s a yes then?
> 
> <3

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/01/10 13.41.59_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/01/10 14.17.27_

> … am I in trouble if I say yes?

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/01/10 14.19.11_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/01/10 14.27.37_

> Not with me <3

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/01/10 14.29.18_

<end of message>


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has explicit sexual content.

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/02/18 14.54.32_

> I don’t like you being gone. Our bed is cold.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/02/18 14.59.09_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/02/18 15.15.56_

> You don’t like it? How do you think I feel? All I hear all night is Chewbacca snoring.
> 
> Still quieter than you.
> 
> <3

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/02/18 15.21.13_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/02/18 15.29.54_

> I should be with you

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/02/18 15.34.34_

<end of message>

You _hate_ going on these missions. They were few and far between but you hated having to go out and see your contacts, reassure them about their intel, make the trades and negotiations that kept the Resistance Intelligence running.

This had been a particularly bad trip. But you were happy to be back. Happy to have feet on Ajan Kloss and a nice warm pilot to snuggle up with.

Speaking of which, where was he?

You’d expected him to see the ship when it landed, have a hug and kiss ready for you. But he wasn’t there. Nor was he in Command when you had gone there to brief General Organa. Now you had to go to the comms storage and the next chance you had of seeing him - other than maybe in passing - wasn’t going to be until tonight. Maybe he had a more _private_ homecoming planned. This was your first mission since you two met, it was possible he had something more special planned than a quick hug and kiss.

Turning the corner, you smile to yourself, then let out a small shriek when a hand grabs your arm, yanking you into a small storage closet.

"What the-" you start but warm lips cut the words off, the door closing quickly behind you. You sink into him immediately, fingers coming up to clutch his shirt.

"Poe," you sigh and hear him moan in return, pushing you back against one wall. There is some light coming from gaps around the door, throwing his features into soft shadows. He’s exactly as beautiful as you remember.

"Poe," you try again but his lips are on your neck, making your brain stop functioning.

"I missed you," he growls.

"I missed you too. Couldn’t this wait til tonight?"

"No," his voice is sharp, stern. "I couldn’t wait another minute."

You sink your fingers into his hair, leaning into the long licks and nuzzles he’s placing on your neck and chest. His hands are on your clothes, pulling this way and that. Then a thought occurs, "How long have you been waiting in this closet?"

"About twenty minutes," his voice is unashamed and you start to make a snarky comment but he’s got your shirt unbuttoned and your bra pushed down and his tongue is on your nipple and there is nothing in the world you’re willing to do to risk that stopping.

He uses one hand to lift your knee, hooking your thigh onto his hip and stepping a little closer until you can feel how hard he is pressing up against you. You squirm, trying to get pressure where you most want it and hear him groan, his mouth releasing your nipple and moving up to press against your ear.

"I _really_ can’t wait til tonight," he mumbles. You can’t either. You pull at your belt, the buttons to your pants. His hands and fingers are trying to help but mostly just in the way as you both fumble. Then you turn away from him, you and him both pushing everything to your knees. He runs a hand across your ass, reaching between your legs and cupping you. You both moan when his fingers slip against you and hear the sound of his own buttons and zipper and then he’s there, pressing into you from behind.

Your fingers try to dig into the wall for purchase but there’s nothing there, just his hands on your wrists, his back pressed to yours. He bends his knees and presses up inside of you and you cry out.

"Shh," his hot breath tickles your ear. "You have to be quiet. You have to - _hmmf_ \- be quiet." You can hear him but your body isn’t listening, sharp noises being drawn from you as from this angle every push of his hips drags along something inside of you. He releases your wrists, reaching down between your legs to rub against you. The other arm tightens across your shoulders, hand moving to cover your mouth. He pulls you back sharply, his lips caressing your ear.

"You have. To. Be. Quiet." Every word is punctuated by a sharp thrust of his hips and you see stars, crying out and clawing at the wall as you come. You hear him groan, feel his hips slap against you and then his hand clenches across your face. His fingers digging into your jaw.

When you come down you feel him slip out of you, his hands wrestling with your clothes and you finally gather enough energy to help, pulling your pants up and buckling your belt with a smile. Turning to face him you lean your shoulders back to the wall and smile, knowing he’ll barely be able to see it in the dim light but you can’t stop yourself.

He’s leaning his back against the far wall - far in this case being relative as he’s only about two feet away. He grins back at you. "I missed you."

Your hand reaches out and he meets you part way, tangling your fingers together. "I missed you too."

A few minutes of shared silence and then he sighs, turning to the door. "I guess we have to go back."

You make a disappointed noise that he takes for agreement. Laughing, you see his hand lift to the panel, hear a low toned beep. A pause, and he does it again. The door stays firmly shut.

He stares at the door and then turns to you. "It’s _possible_ we’re locked in here."

You drop his hand. "What?"

"It’s _possible,_ " again, he stresses the word, "that we’re locked in here."

"By possible do you mean 'we’re definitely locked in here'?"

A pause. "Yes."

"Poe. Dameron." You stress each syllable of his name as you say it and see him wince at each one. "How _could_ you?"

He raises his hands in front of him in supplication, "How was I supposed to know these closets locked from the outside?"

"Why would they lock from the _inside_?"

"I don’t know!"

You glare at him, knowing he probably can’t tell in the dim light but doing it anyway because it makes you feel better. "How did you get out to snatch me in here?"

"I never closed the door," he mumbles.

You close your eyes and count to ten. Then twenty. He doesn’t say anything while you do. When you get to thirty-two you hear a sudden "Ah-ha" and crack one eye open to look at him.

"BB-8!" He calls out, like it’s the answer to all the questions of the universe. "He’s supposed to be standing guard. Hey little buddy, you there?"

Silence, not so much as a whistle from the other side.

"BB, buddy, please tell me you’re there."

"What _exactly_ was BB supposed to be guarding for?" You ask with careful precision. Poe shoots you a glance and mumbles something into the door. "What was that?"

"In case someone tried to open it while we were in here. He was supposed to distract them."

"Ah," you murmur. "So not only are we locked in here, there’s a good chance we were quite nearly interrupted by… someone?"

"It’s possible, yes."

"Poe?"

"Yes?"

"I am going to murder you the moment that door opens."

He pauses his perusal of the door panel and looks up at you through a lock of hair, "Well that’s really not providing me much of an incentive to get us out of here now is it?"

You growl at him and cross your arms, watching him poke around in the door’s control panel. Leaning against the door itself, you listen to his murmured curses and think of all the worst case scenarios.

No one comes down this corridor for hours and they actually have to send out a search party for you two.

Someone needs something from the closet and opens it - no, not someone, if you were going to do worst case scenarios might as well go for _worst_. _General Organa_ needs something and opens the closet to find you two.

You’re so caught up in your little imaginings you barely hear the sound of shuffling footsteps, the tell-tale clink of metal. "Poe is that-?"

"A droid," he finishes before raising his voice to be heard through the door. "Hey, can you get us out of here? We’re locked in this storage closet."

"Master Poe? Master Poe is that you?"

Your eyes go wide and Poe groans, "3PO? Is that you?"

"It is I Master Poe!"

"Of all the dumb luck…" he mutters and trails off. "3PO we’re locked in this closet. Can you bypass the lock?"

"Oh most assuredly I can. Let me see…"

You hear the sound of the protocol droid, beeps and buzzing noises. Raising an eyebrow you meet your cellmate’s eyes. " _Master_ Poe is it?"

He grins at you, pressing his ear to the door. "You only get to call me that if you’ve been very good…" a pause, "or _very_ bad."

Maker, he was incorrigible. If you loved him even a little less he’d be _insufferable_.

A few more beeps and sudden bright light floods into the small space. The droid turns to look at the two of you. "Oh Master Poe! Commander Taskebah!"

"How come he calls you Commander?" Poe pouts as you both exit the small storage area.

"I asked him to," you respond, hearing the door swish shut behind you. Poe narrows his eyes at you and you raise an eyebrow in response. He doesn’t say anything but his face settles into a glare. "Don’t be mad just because it never occurred to you."

"Maybe I _like_ being called Master Poe?" He offers.

"I’m sure you do," you say, walking away from him.

Just before you’re out of his range he reaches out and curls his fingers around your forearm. "Maybe tonight _you’ll_ call me Master Poe?" He says it with a smirk, teeth digging into his lower lip.

You lean towards him, "Only if you’re very good." You pull away, backing up a few steps, "Or _very_ bad."

The sound of his groan follows you down the hall.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those who have gotten lost in the timestamps, about 6-7 months have passed since the events of Last Jedi/ arrival on Ajan Kloss. We're a few days, maybe a week, out from the start of Rise of Skywalker.
> 
> These events probably have in-universe dates but seeing as they weren't easy to find I made them up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has explicit sexual content.

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/15 11.03.08_

> Hey, it’s our anniversary. I love you.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/03/15 11.05.59_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/15 11.10.07_

> Our anniversary? Our 7 month anniversary?

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/03/15 11.13.06_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/15 11.18.09_

> One year since our first letter.
> 
> -p

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/03/15 11.20.02_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/15 11.24.38_

> Oh! That’s so sweet! I hadn’t even thought about it. We should celebrate.
> 
> <3

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/03/15 11.25.16_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/15 11.25.46_

> Wait, that means it’s also your birthday…
> 
> Poe, is today your birthday?

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/03/15 11.26.17_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/15 11.30.58_

> Maybe

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/03/15 11.32.50_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/15 11.35.03_

> POE.

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/03/15 11.37.45_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/15 11.41.36_

> What?

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/03/15 11.43.00_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/15 11.49.48_

> Are you doing this just to aggravate me?

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/03/15 11.51.44_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/15 11.55.34_

> Maybe

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/03/15 11.56.13_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/15 12.01.24_

> I can’t believe I was thinking of getting you a birthday… well I guess you’ll never know will you? Serves you right.

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/03/15 12.03.39_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/15 12.09.30_

> You’re the one who married me Sweetheart.

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/03/15 12.11.25_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/15 12.15.52_

> We’re not married.

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/03/15 12.17.04_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

 _Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/15 12.20.33_

> Do you want to be?

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/03/15 12.22.41_

<end of message>

" _Poe Dameron_!" His love’s voice cracked across the flight line, causing several people to turn her way. Grinning, he pokes his head up from the engine of his X-Wing and watches her march across the space towards him.

"Yes my dearest?"

Oh she was fuming, holding a comm pad in her hand and waving it in the air like it was a blaster. "Did you just _propose_ to me?"

He slides down the side of the X-Wing, wiping his hands with a spare cloth as his boots hit the ground. "Yes."

She points at him with the comm pad. If it _were_ a blaster he’d be dead right now. "In a _comms message_?"

"It’s how we met," he points out, tucking the cloth into his pocket and walking towards her. "I thought it was romantic." She freezes at that and he crosses the remaining space between them, pulling her hands into his. "I was going to do this later. In _private_." He raises an eyebrow and pointedly looks around them. For the first time she seems to notice the crowd of people, several dozen pilots and mechanics watching them with unabashed interest.

"Oh," she whispers.

"But since you won’t let me…" He reaches into his shirt, pulling out the chain he always wore.

"We can do this later," she whispers, blinking fast and continuing to look at the people around them.

"Oh no," he shakes his head, slipping his mother’s ring from the chain. "You started this and we’re going to do it now." Picking up her hand again he gives it a reassuring squeeze. "Sweetheart. Gorgeous. My Love. My Life. I have been looking for you for longer than I knew what I was looking for. I always knew that somewhere out there there was the perfect person for me. I was lucky enough to find two - which turned out to be just one." He pauses, swallowing around the knot of emotions in his throat. "Will you marry me?"

There are tears tracking down her cheeks and he waits, watching her bite her lip and then she nods. "Of course I will."

Grinning he slips the ring on to her finger, then cups her face in his hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs and pressing his lips to hers. He hears cheers behind him, at least one 'aww'.

"About time," a voice calls out and Poe breaks away from her to smile at Finn. Slinging his arm over his fiancée’s shoulder he turns them both just in time to be caught in the other man’s all-encompassing hug. He’s smiling so wide his face hurts, accepting the hearty thump on the back from Finn. Then it’s all of Black Squadron lining up to congratulate him while Finn steals her away, asking pointed questions like "Are you sure you want to marry a pilot?" and "Blink twice if he’s holding you against your will."

He doesn’t hear her response, but the look she gives him is all warmth and softness. He reaches out for her, finding her fingers meeting his halfway. It takes a full ten minutes to get through all the well-wishers, ten minutes before he barks at them all to get back to work. Ten minutes before he can pull her into his arms again and kiss her.

"I love you," she whispers against his lips.

"I love you too."

"I have to go back to work now."

"So do I."

"Am I too late to congratulate you?" The voice is neither of theirs and Poe can’t help the wide grin as he turns to see Leia.

"No, you’re right on time," he replies, holding his love’s hand up to show her.

The look the General gives them both is full of fondness. Reaching her hands out and taking one of each of theirs. "I am so happy for you both."

His fiancée steps forward, wrapping the General into a hug. Poe waits til she finishes then steps in for his own.

"Oh Poe," Leia sighs, patting the back of his head softly before letting him go. "What are you doing now?"

They look at each other, then at Leia. "Well, we both have to get back to work," Poe offers as an answer but Leia waves him off.

"Not today. Go." She smiles a half smile, "We need more love in the galaxy."

Slipping his hand into his fiancée’s, Maker did he love thinking of her that way, he nods at the General. "Yes ma’am." And then he’s pulling her along behind him, away from the flight line and the on-duty crews.

It takes her a moment to realize where he’s going and she digs her heels in, jerking him to a stop. "Now?"

Rounding on her he dips his head down and kisses her, not letting up until her fingers are clutching at his shirt. "I believe we were specifically ordered to go make love."

Laughing, she follows when he starts moving again. "I don’t think that’s what she said."

Punching the code for their quarters he pulls her through the moment the door opens, gathering her into his arms and walking her backwards to the bed. "I want you in my bed with nothing on you but that ring. _Now_."

She nods in agreement, pulling at her clothes, tossing her comm pad and necklace onto the desk. He tear at his own clothes and in a few seconds they’re both naked, gazes roving over each other. Her hand comes up slowly to rest over his heart, her fingers pressing against his skin. "Mine," she whispers and he groans before covering it with his, leaning forward and kissing her again.

They tumble into the bed together, a mess of tangled limbs and laughter. Her hands are running up and down his back, his under her thighs and lifting so he can settle between them, move down and run his tongue across her hip. She sighs his name and he moans, nuzzling into her center.

One of her hands grips his, the other in his hair guiding him - leading him to all the places that give her the most pleasure. He follows, licking his tongue against her, holding her hand in a close grasp. When her moans become more breathy - barely able to gasp out his name - he stops and slides up her body, peppering kisses along her stomach and chest.

Her arms wrap around him, her lips lifting to meet him as he sinks inside her. How is it so much _better_? Nothing had changed, not really. A small circle of beskar had moved from his body to hers - and yet somehow it felt like the universe had tilted on his axis.

"I love you," she’s saying it over and over, eyes squeezed shut. He cups her face in one hand, urging her to tilt her face to him.

"Open your eyes," the words are low, a plea. "I want to see you. I want to-" he gasps when her muscles clamp down around him, her eyes fluttering open before going wide, her lips parting and his name falling from them like a prayer.

He’s gone.

Neither of them shuts their eyes while the pleasure washes through them. Both keep their gazes locked and he feels like she replaces just a little bit of his soul with her own. And maybe stole a bit of his for herself.


	19. Chapter 19

You watch him get up, pulling his pants back on with a casual motion and moving across your quarters. You loved watching him move, especially like this. When he didn’t know you were watching, his body full of grace. Lithe and muscled and shimmering in the low lights. He hadn’t buckled his belt, the service blaster on it dragging it down and making his pants ride low on his hips. If he turned around you were pretty sure you’d be able to see a lot more than he thought he had covered.

Settling into the mattress, you run your finger over your new ring idly, smiling as you think of the events of the day. If the clock is any indication it was still his birthday and you had some idea on how to go about making this day even _more_ memorable. If only he’d come back to bed.

He sits at the desk, shifting through the scattered data pads on top of it. Glancing at each before sorting them into piles.

"What are you doing?" You ask from the warm nest of sheets.

He glances up at you, startled. "Sorry, I thought you were still asleep." He smiles sheepishly, "I need to approve a couple of things before tomorrow."

"Hrmph," you mumble grumpily, pouting for his amusement. " _I_ thought we were under orders to make love?"

He grins, "Yes we are. And trust me I intend to pursue that matter _quite_ thoroughly." You giggle and watch him flick the power button on a unit, glancing at the screen before tossing it aside. Reaching across the table, he picks up one sitting on the edge, your necklace sliding off of it, and flicks it on. His face lights up and he looks at you over its edge. "What is this?"

"What is what?" You ask, stretching on the bed as you watch him. He looks so handsome, even just sitting at the table, a comm pad in front of him. You narrow your eyes, what does he…

No.

Oh no.

"Poe please put that down."

He raises an eyebrow as he holds it up for a second, "Commander, did you _commandeer_ a comm unit just for yourself? Naughty."

You swallow hard, sitting up slowly, pulling the blanket up to cover you. "Poe please don’t-"

But he’s already scanning the screen, his face settling into a warm smile. "This is us, our letters."

"Yes," your eyes never leave his face. You don’t know when the last time was that you had wiped the key memory processors. But you knew it wasn’t recently enough. You’d gotten sloppy, so happy in this newfound life that you’d stopped doing the one thing that might have saved you in this moment.

You can tell the moment he sees them. Sees the damning messages. His eyes skimming over the words before stopping and reading them more thoroughly. Then to the next one. And the next. At least a month’s worth.

"Poe…" you start but when he looks up at you his face could be carved from stone, his eyes chips of ice. He looks angry. He looks… dangerous.

Without looking, he reaches over and presses the panel by the door. "I need a security team to bunk 8-Bravo immediately." When he gets an affirmative response he pulls his hand back, curling it into a fist on the table top. The room is silent save for the pounding sound of your own heartbeat in your ears.

You’d known this day was coming for a long time. From the first day you put your life on the line by joining the Resistance you knew that it was inevitable that your secrets would out. You blink, trying to avoid crying. He doesn’t say a word, just stares at you with that same hard look in his eyes.

"Are you going to make me go naked?" You ask softly.

His gaze doesn’t leave your face but he reaches down and pulls his service blaster from his hip, laying it on the table between you. "You can take my shirt." You raise an eyebrow at that and his eyes narrow, "That way I know..."

You pull the blanket with you as you leave the bed, turning your back on him when you pull the shirt on and button it up. It only goes to mid-thigh but it’s better than nothing. You slip on your underwear too, mentally daring him to say something about it but he’s silent. You turn back to him, standing with your hands loose at your side. "That way you know what?"

His jaw clenches. "You’re not taking anything dangerous. Or important."

"No," you smile slightly. "Just me."

He taps his fingers on the comm pad. A sharp staccato that rings through your ears. "How long?"

"Longer than you’ve known me."

The door to your quarters slides open, four security personnel with blasters ready. They look at Poe, then at you. When they see your state of undress they quickly turn back to Poe and the leader asks, "Colonel?"

Poe stands, leaning his fists onto the table. "I am ordering the arrest of this woman." A deep breath as you wait for the words that will doom you. "As a First Order spy."

You don’t flinch at hearing him say it out loud. Instead, you cross your wrists in front of you and lift your chin. The security personnel look at you doubtfully before you raise an eyebrow. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

You can’t help but take one last look at him as they escort you out. One last look at his face, a look of pure hatred on it.


	20. Chapter 20

He waits til she’s gone before flipping the table on its end, sending data pads and an assortment of other objects flying across the room. The chair soon follows, tossed into a corner where it knocks over the small plant she had gotten him for Life Day. He watches it topple, watches the delicate leaves curl in on themselves immediately. Unsatisfied, he turns and punches the wall, feeling the sharp bite of the motion crawl up his arm, the throbbing pain in his knuckles. He freezes, breathing through his nose. Feeling the heat of his anger, his rage at her betrayal, seep through him.

He stands in the middle of the wreckage, taking deep steadying breaths, eyes closed. His jaw is clenched so hard his back teeth hurt and he makes a conscious effort to loosen it. Finally feeling somewhat under control he opens his eyes and quickly grabs a rucksack from the closet, stuffing basic clothes, his personal kit, and tossing his flight suit over it. He couldn’t sleep here. Not with every corner of the room an echo of her. He couldn’t do it.

It takes very little convincing to get a new billet, word of his fiancée’s - there was a word that was going to make him gag - arrest already moving through the base. He heard a few quiet whispers as he walked to the new quarters, glaring at anyone stupid enough to let themselves be overheard. Once there, he dropped the bag to the floor and collapsed across the bed. Sleep came quickly, but his dreams were nightmares.

The next morning, he wakes up still groggy - feeling like he might need caf for the first time in his life. But when he stops by the kitchen the smell of it reminds him too much of her and he bypasses it in favor of a slice of toast. At Command, there’s a hush over the room. An empty seat at Comms. The General was away on a diplomatic mission, trying to gather more allies. They all looked to him.

"You’ve all heard the rumors and I won’t deny them," he says without preamble. "Commander Taskebah has been arrested for passing intel on to the First Order. She has not, so far, denied these accusations." A low murmur rises in the room and he let’s it go for a few seconds before raising his hand. "She will be questioned, but for now _all_ data and encryptions are to be reformatted. Assume any piece of information that has come through here she has tampered with. Any codes, any passwords, anything that Commander Taskebah had access to needs to be undone by the end of today. Do I make myself clear?"

A mumbled mix of 'Yes Colonel’s and 'Yes sir’s fill the room.

"Good. As you were."

The room comes back to life, louder than it had been when he walked in - people now moving with a purpose and insight into the situation. The head of base security, Commander Askalo, is waiting to talk to him.

"We tried questioning her last night but she wouldn’t talk to us, just went straight to the bed. This morning she sat at the table when we moved her, but so far has said nothing." They say, giving Poe a sideways look.

"Who have you sent to talk to her?"

"Captain Bonyert, Captain Mandley…" they start to rattle off and Poe cuts them off with a quick wave of the hand.

"I’ll be there in an hour. She’ll talk to me," he hears the dark note in his voice, the threat.

"Colonel, with all due respect, I have to advise-" they start but Poe turns on them so fast they back up a step.

"What Commander? You have to advise _what_?" He snarls.

"If General Organa were here-"

"But she’s not," he cuts them off with a hard look. "I’m here and I will be interrogating the prisoner. If you have a problem with that I suggest you keep quiet about it."

Luckily they take his advice and an hour later Poe is striding into one of the outer bunkers. There hadn’t been much use for a brig, or any kind of cells. But a few First Order prisoners had been through the base and he was more than familiar with the layout. There were two guards stationed outside, as he had ordered, and he gives them a nod as one enters the key code to allow him access.

The room is small, a table with two chairs across from each other bolted to the floor in the center. A cot and washing facilities on the far end. She’s sitting cross legged on the bed, her eyes shut and her hands resting on her knees. She doesn’t open them when he enters and he takes a minute to just look at her. The sleeves of his shirt, the one she’s wearing, have been rolled up - bare forearms to go with the bare legs.

Crossing, he drops his data unit on the table with a loud clatter. She opens one eye, and then both when she sees him - lifting her chin but not saying a word. He settles into the chair facing her and waits. After a moment, she rises from the bed and slowly lowers her feet to the floor.

"Morning Gorgeous," her voice is husky. "Or is it afternoon yet?"

"It’s Colonel. Or sir." He corrects her, motioning for her to sit across from him.

She gives him a small half smile. "I warned you, you know." When he doesn’t reply she sinks across from him. "I told you if you knew what I was you’d despise me."

He doesn’t answer her, just shifts the data unit so it’s squared with the edge of the table. "I’m told you won’t talk to any of our officers."

"No."

"But you will talk to me?" He phrases it as a question but they both know he’s not asking.

"I never could say no to you," she says it with a small smile, a shrug of one shoulder. He feels a surge of hatred towards her that has him digging his fingers into the tabletop.

"I hope you’ll be honest with me."

"I’ve always been honest with you." He grunts at that, not ready to go down that road. Instead he picks up his data unit and flicks it on, looking at the list of questions.

"Name?"

"I don’t have one."

Sighing, he looks up at her, "What’s Taskebah?"

"What I am."

He lets out a breath and sets the unit down. "Are you going to do this the entire time?"

She leans forward, putting her elbows on the table. "I’m not being difficult. I don’t _have_ a name. My mother never bothered to give me one and others… never allowed me one." She taps her fingers on the table. "When I joined the Resistance I had to have something and I chose Taskebah - but it’s not my name."

"What is your mother’s name?"

"I’m not telling you that." He considers pushing the issue but notes the mulish set to her expression and moves on.

"Who are you communicating with inside the First Order?"

"A friend."

He pauses, raising his eyes from the screen. "A friend?" She nods, short and sharp. "Like me?" A hesitation and then another nod. "Are you involved with this friend too?"

"Does your data pad ask that?" the looks she gives him half smirk, half skepticism.

"Answer me," he says instead.

"No," the word is solid, final. He feels a ball of tension he didn’t know he was holding release.

"What’s their name?"

"I’m not telling you that."

"When did you begin passing information to the First Order?"

"The moment I joined the Resistance."

"Did you inform the First Order of the whereabouts of the supply depot on Hoth ten days ago?

She snorts, "You know I did."

"And the encryption key for a data unit captured from Captain Wexley?"

"You saw my messages," she sighs. "You know I did."

"And did you-" but she cuts him off.

"We could spend a day going through every mission the Resistance has ever had. Let me give you the highlights." She leans forward, cupping her hands around her elbows. "Seven years ago I outed a Resistance mole in the First Order, leading to her execution. Five years ago, I learned of the construction of the Starkiller base and hid it from my superiors. Two years ago I gave the First Order the coordinates of the _Kesselia_ leading to its destruction. Eight months ago I told them where the Resistance base was on D’Qar." She hesitates and then sighs, "And perhaps more importantly to you, I told them about a pilot on Jakku who was looking for Luke Skywalker."

He didn’t think he could get angrier. Would have sworn it wasn’t possible. His jaw clenches, his teeth grinding against each other, the corner of one eye beginning to twitch. "You told them where I was?"

"In fairness I didn’t know it was you. I thought it was…" but she trails off and blinks.

"You thought it was Poe Dameron. Just another expendable pilot." He’s surprised how soft his voice is. How calm he sounds.

"Something like that."

"They tortured me. For _hours_. Did you know they were going to do that?" Memories he tried hard to keep tucked away rose up, gagging him. The pain. The feeling of someone else inside his mind.

"I didn’t think they’d find you," she whispers. "But if they did… yes. I knew."

"Why? Why did you-" he cuts himself off but she answers anyway.

"I did what needed to be done."

"For who," he snaps. "For me? For yourself? For the _galaxy_? Tell me why, what _needed_ to be done so badly it was worth people’s lives?"

Her eyes narrow and he realizes suddenly that she is almost as angry as he is. "Those are fine words from a mutineer."

"You think we’re the same?" He stands up, leaning over the table towards her, palms flat to the cool metal. "Your actions have cost _lives_ , put the entire fate of the galaxy at risk."

She stands to face him, hands on the table, their noses almost touching. "And yours didn’t? Tell me again what happened on the _Raddus_? How many lives were lost because of you and Finn?" She’s biting off every word, "How close did the Resistance come to falling that day because of _you_?" Snorting a short laugh she sits back down, leaning back in her chair. "You did more damage to the Resistance in one day than I’ve done in eight years."

"I was doing what I thought I was _right_ ," the words are pulled from somewhere deep within him.

"Welcome to the club," she says it flippantly, looking away from him to the wall and crossing her arms.

They stay like that, him standing, fists pressed to the table. Her a practiced study in nonchalance. He lists off X-Wing squadrons in his head - but that only reminds him of the ones that have been lost. Breathing heavily through his nose he finally asks the question he most wanted the answer to.

"Was anything we had real?"

He hears her breath catch, sees her chin jerk, the tendons in her neck in stark relief before disappearing again.

"Every moment."

He sags, sinking down into his chair, hands loose on the table as he stares at her. "The letters… I wish it hadn’t been you," he says, his shoulders slumped.

"Me too," she echoes.

He leaves her there, staring at the wall. Nodding at the guards at the door and then making his way back to Command. There’s a stutter in the conversation when he arrives, voices halting and then resuming quickly. He ignores them, crossing to look at the day’s briefing. Her words echo in his head. Her 'friend' in the First Order… was it the same one she had told him about two months ago? He hadn’t thought to ask. The information was from a private moment, between the two of them… he grits his teeth. He would include it for the next interrogation round.

And what was it she had said? Taskebah wasn’t her name - it was _what_ she was. What could she have meant by that?

"Hey 3PO," he calls and the golden droid shuffles its way over to him. "What does Taskebah mean?"

"Oh, I _am_ sorry Master Poe but I cannot tell you that."

"You don’t _know_?"

"I _do_ know, Master Poe. But I have been ordered specifically _not_ to reveal that information."

"By who?"

The droid raises its arms. "I’m afraid I cannot say."

He knew who. "As both Colonel and acting Head of the Resistance, I believe my orders supersede any you might have been given by the Commander."

"I’m afraid they do not, Master Poe."

Poe narrows his eyes at the droid and it backs up a step, pausing for a moment before quickly shuffling away.

 _Taskebah_. A name she hated. Why choose it if she would flinch whenever it was used? And why not tell him what it meant - it’s not like there was anything left for her to lose at this point.

He muddles over the issue, trying to piece the things he knew together. She had said she’d never lied to him but how could that be possible? The more he thought about it the more he realized that she had either ducked or given vague answers to his questions about her past. And they didn’t talk about Comms, didn’t talk about intel.

Sighing, he lifts his head to meet the eyes of the Senior Command. While Leia was gone they looked to him, and it was time to earn that trust.

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/16 08.04.33_

> We have found and neutralized a spy in Command. A full briefing will be waiting for you when you return.
> 
> Col. P. Dameron

_Recipient ID: 102._ ⩑⋌ .32.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/03/16 08.07.27_

<end of message>


	21. Chapter 21

Two days pass and he doesn’t come back.

A veritable parade of other people do. Other Comms officers, security personnel, senior officers. You greet each warmly, but don’t give them anything beyond that. You shouldn’t have talked to Poe at all, you realized that now. It was too easy to give him too much. Things he couldn’t know. Not yet.

When the doors to your prison slide open on the third day you ignore them. Unless they forced you to the table you never went, just stayed on your bed and practiced meditating. You were never very good at it, there was something about holding your mind clear of thoughts that was anathema to how you organized information. No matter how often you tried, you always saw patterns and numbers, encryptions keys and intel swirling around until by habit you started to pick them each apart one by one. The next thing you knew you’d be sitting at your desk writing reports and it would be hours before you realized you had started this whole process by trying to relax.

And now, now the patterns and keys are all _him_. Your moments spent together. Every time you could have broken the news to him in a better way. A way he might have understood. Like the arcs of laser canons in the night sky you can see dozens, hundreds of moments - each one bright and bold and begging you to have taken the opportunity then. When the two of you were lost in the gentle ebbs and flows of your love for each other and he might have listened to you before he took an irrevocable step. When you might have convinced him to join you. But each one fades into the distance, an opportunity ignored because you were so afraid of what might happen. That he might look at you exactly the way he had.

The pace of the footsteps across your cell is measured, a little click with one foot. You don’t bother opening your eyes, lost in your own thoughts. Let them make the first move, the first opening. You would decide your own behavior based on that. They cross to you and then you feel the weight of the person settle next to yours. No one had done that before. Everyone always stayed on the other side of the table. Cracking one eye slightly you glance at them. Then you sit up straighter, opening both eyes and turning to her.

"General Organa," you say quickly.

"There’s no one listening," her voice is measured. Strained. Filled with sorrow.

You swallow, "Leia." Her eyes are pained and you blink, feeling tears beginning to well in your own. "I’m so sorry. Tomorrow… tomorrow came too soon." You’re crying and you feel her arms wrap around you as she pulls your head to her shoulder, stroking soothing circles on your back.

"Oh dear one, I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen."

You snuffle into her jacket, body heaving with your sobs. She continues to hold you, continues to whisper endearments and soft words into your hair. You don’t know how long you cry for, but when you finish you feel drained, weak.

"Tell me what happened," her voice is soft, soothing. The question itself is simple but you balk at it. How to put into words the panic you’d felt in that moment? The split second decision that you still weren’t sure was the right one but was the one you had chosen regardless.

"He found my comm unit. And I… I was careless. There were messages on there. To my contact."

She shakes her head, moving her hand to wipe tears from your cheeks. "Why didn’t you tell him?"

"There wasn’t time. He found the messages and then he called security. I didn’t know what to do. If I tried to explain and he didn’t believe me - it could have ruined everything."

She nods although you can tell she’s not sure you did the right thing either. She crosses her hands on top of her cane. "So we’ll tell him now. I’m here and can vouch for-"

"No," you cut her off. You’d had two days to think this over. To go over every permutation, every consequence of how to move forward. "We lost that option the moment he called security."

Leia shakes her head, "What do you mean? We can still-"

"No," you turn more fully towards her, taking her hands in yours. "If my contact finds out I’ve been arrested and released, they’ll never trust me again. We’ve come too far to lose this chance now." You stare into her eyes, willing her to see what you’re seeing. You’d had days to think now. Days to pluck those laser bolts out of the night sky of your mind, to examine each and toss them to the side. Days to decide what you were willing to sacrifice if it meant winning the war. "We might be able to end all of this, for good. They’re _so_ close to turning Leia. One more push and I’ll have him."

She nods slowly, understanding dawning on her face. "Your arrest would have been broadcast on base immediately."

You’re nodding faster, more vehemently, "And it would have been in the First Order intel within minutes after that. The moment Poe called security I couldn’t risk any doubt about who I am…"

"But we could tell him now," she points out. "Poe will understand the need for secrecy. Why you have to remain." She sighs, "He deserves to know. He… he’s not doing well without you."

You shut your eyes, taking a deep breath before you give her a lop-sided smile. "And then what? I love him. And he’ll tear this place apart with his bare hands before letting me stay a minute longer than is necessary."

Leia returns your wry smile. "You’re not wrong about that."

"Have you seen him play sabacc?" you offer with a grin. "The man cannot keep a neutral expression to save his life. The eyes give him away every time."

"I think he could do it," Leia says softly, "to save _you_."

You shift uncomfortably, trying to ignore the warm memories her words stir in you. "Would you bet the fate of the Resistance on it? The fate of the Republic? The _galaxy_?" Her silence is answer enough and you continue. "And besides, the more he hates me… the more believable this whole thing will be."

"I don’t like this," Leia sighs. "I wish I had been here when it happened. I could have done something then." You watch her, watch her struggle with her own guilt. Then she sighs, "But the past is in the past. We will make the best of what we have." Squaring her shoulder she gives you a hard look. "I take it you have a plan?"

You nod. "If you can get me a comm pad I can act like I stole it, or someone passed it to me. I’ll figure that part out. But I need to get in touch with my contact. I need to _push_ him."

"I can make that happen," Leia assures you.

You nod again, thinking. "And can you… can you make them stop? With the interrogations? I don’t care what you do but I’d like some breathing room knowing that I’m not going to get caught."

She smiles, "That will be easy. You’ve confessed your crimes. I’ll tell them you’re awaiting transport. It’ll also take the guards off the door"

"There’s guards at the door?" You’d never heard of Command doing that for any other prisoner. There were guards for the bunker, sure, but not for individual cells.

"Colonel Dameron is taking the threat you pose quite seriously."

You snort a short laugh. "I suppose I should be flattered." Leia, shrugs, making a noncommittal noise. Taking a deep breath you ask, "When all this is over, will you be able to…?"

She gives you a reassuring nod, "I have _all_ the information, stored on my private keys. We’ll get through this and I’ll see your name cleared."

"Poe is going to hate me for putting him through this," you murmur morosely.

"Oh my dear," Leia sighs, patting your knee. "He’s going to hate us _both_."

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 655._ ⋊⊿ _.21.47_ ⩟ _01_ ⩝  
_Sent: 35/03/19 14.50.17_

> I see you’ve gotten yourself caught. How, precisely, are we supposed to put our plan into action now?

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/03/19 14.54.09_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/19 15.11.23_

> You’re going to have to start doing some of the dirty work yourself brother.

_Recipient ID: 655._ ⋊⊿ _.21.47_ ⩟ _01_ ⩝  
_Received: 35/03/19 15.15.32_

<end of message>


	22. Chapter 22

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 655._ ⋊⊿ _.21.47_ ⩟ _01_ ⩝  
_Sent: 35/03/22 11.13.42_

> The Emperor lives.
> 
> He has built an Armada on Exegol that dwarfs the might of the Galactic Empire.
> 
> The attack will begin at 0600GST 35/03/23
> 
> Get this to the Resistance.

_Recipient ID: 570._ ⊥ ⋊. _45._ 23 ⊼ _09_ ⩟  
_Received: 35/03/22 11.17.27_

<end of message>

A lot had happened in the last week.

The thought rattled in Poe’s brain as he marched, cuffed, next to Finn and Chewbacca.

First Leia had sent them to Sinta looking for information on a spy in the First Order and they’d come back with confirmation. Which made sense - if a Commander in the Resistance could be a spy it only followed that the Resistance had their own high-ranking person in the First Order.

Of course, the fact that the spy in the Resistance was the woman he loved had been a pretty hard blow. One he was not even close to recovering from. And really, that should have been first on his list.

Okay then - First, his fiancée was a traitor.

 _Second_ , they had a mole in the First Order.

That was better. Those balanced each other.

Third, Emperor Palpatine was back. Should that be higher on the list? No, he was doing this basically chronologically.

Fourth, somewhere in the Unknown Regions there was an Armada waiting to take out every Republic sympathizer, every Resistance base. And they had no idea how to find it.

Fifth, while the rescue mission of Chewbacca was a success (and damn, he probably should put Chewie getting captured on the list somewhere too) it wasn’t, like, a _resounding_ success so far and there was a very good chance he was about to be killed.

Sixth, despite nursing an utterly shattered heart he still had a little bit of game.

He snorts to himself, that one was an accident. Half habit and half wondering if he still had any emotions left at all after having every bit of his soul stripped from his body and trampled. Zorii was from his past, a time before all the pain of the past year. Seeing her, hearing her voice and just being in her presence had been a balm - but his heart hadn’t really been in it. He was more relieved than disappointed when she turned down his perfectly reasonable and not at all sexual in nature request for a kiss. A kiss for luck, nothing more.

Although, if he was going to rebound there _were_ worse people.

He hears the order to halt. The muted conversation and then Hux’s voice, "Actually.... I'd like to do this myself."

While he was being honest with himself, he did have _one_ burning question he might actually be able to get an answer to before he died. "What were you going to tell Rey before?"

He sees Finn stiffen, "You still on that?"

"Oh, I’m sorry," he snaps, turning to his friend. "is this a bad time?"

Next to him, Chewie let out a low groan but Poe ignores him.

"Yeah. Sort of is a bad time, Poe." Finn responds unhelpfully.

Poe is angry and upset and about to die and even with all that he can’t stop his mouth from running. "Well, 'cause later doesn't really look like an option. If you're going to let something off your chest, maybe now's not the worst time to…." He flinches at the sound of blaster fire, perplexed when none of them seem to have hit him. He knew stormtroopers were bad shots but this was ridiculous. Risking a glance over his shoulder he sees the stormtroopers on the ground and Hux holding a blaster. All three of them turn in shock.

"I’m the spy."

Poe stares at the red-haired man in disbelief. " _What?_ "

" _You_?" He hears Finn echo.

"We don’t have much time," Hux says in response, clutching the blaster in his hands.

Tilting his head Poe points at him. "I _knew_ it."

Finn turns incredulously. "No you did not."

"Well," he shrugs as Hux removes the restraints from Chewbacca and then moves on to his own. "I had considered it. I thought it _might_ be him. That counts." He rubs his wrist and watches the General turn to Finn, watches the sleeve of the First Order uniform pull up as he releases the cuffs from Finn’s wrists.

Poe reaches out so quickly he’s not even aware of the action before he’s holding the other man’s hand in a hard grip. Turning it over, he pushes the sleeve further up - exposing the black tattoo. "What is _that_."

Hux looks down his nose at him, sneering, "What is _what_?"

" _This_ ," Poe turns his wrist sharply and Hux yelps, trying to jerk away. But Poe’s hold is too tight.

"It’s none of your business is what it is," Hux spits out. "Now unhand me you cretin."

"Poe we need to _go_ ," Finn pleads, brows furrowed.

"It’s an ouroboros," Poe whispers, showing it to Finn who just gives him a confused look. He pulls Hux closer to him, so close he can see the man’s pupils go wide. "Why? What is this _for_?"

A glimmer of understanding and Hux gives him a sneering smile, "You’ve seen one of the others. You’ve seen _her’s._ "

"Tell me," Poe’s grip tightens on the other man painfully.

"Oh she never mentioned this," Hux is practically purring. "Did you fall for her? Fall for the little ghost girl? That must have _hurt_ ," Hux leans in as he says it, almost spitting in Poe’s eye.

Poe sees red, drawing his other fist back, fully intending to smash it into the General’s smug face. Someone catches it and gives a warbling sound of warning. "Let me go Chewie," Poe snaps at his friend but the Wookie doesn’t, just pulls his arm back down to his side. "I won’t hit him," he finally promises and Chewie lets him go with a dubious head tilt. "As long as he tells me what it means."

"We took an oath - not that rebel scum like you would understand the concept," Hux snarls at him. "An oath to uphold the Empire. _Whatever_ the cost."

Understanding dawns on Poe. "It was _your_ father." One of Hux’s eyes twitch but there’s no other movement, no confirmation. But Poe doesn’t need it. "Who was the third?"

" _Poe_ ," Finn sounds like he’s about to burst a vessel.

Hux jerks his arm and this time Poe lets go. "If you’re done talking about the past I’m trying to save your worthless hides." He gestures them down an adjacent corridor, letting Finn and Chewbacca scout ahead. As Poe goes to walk by him Hux reaches out and grabs him by the arm. "When you get back, you _will_ let her go."

"She’s a traitor," Poe growls.

"I’m saving your life you mangy cur, promise me. Promise me you’ll let her go or you won’t get off this ship."

"What is she to you?" Poe can’t stop himself from asking.

A beat before Hux answers. "Family."

Poe looks into the other man’s eyes, sees the mix of emotions there and finally nods. "I can’t make any promises for the rest of the Resistance, but if we make it back I’ll see to it that she escapes."

A nod of understanding. Then they both move, running now, ducking through the corridors of the ship and the _Millennium Falcon_ is there and all he can do is breathe a sigh of relief.

"There she is. She’s a survivor."


	23. Chapter 23

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 655._ ⋊⊿ _.21.47_ ⩟ _01_ ⩝  
_Sent: 35/03/23 18.06.57_

> You’re welcome.

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/03/23 18.10.32_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/23 18.19.30_

> For what?

_Recipient ID: 655._ ⋊⊿ _.21.47_ ⩟ _01_ ⩝  
_Received: 35/03/23 18.24.12_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/23 21.01.14_

> Brother. What did you do?

_Recipient ID: 655._ ⋊⊿ _.21.47_ ⩟ _01_ ⩝  
_Received: 35/03/23 21.08.02_

<end of message>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 655._ ⋊⊿ _.21.47_ ⩟ _01_ ⩝  
_Sent: 35/03/23 21.17.42_

> The traitor Armitage Hux has been executed.
> 
> This is the First Order High Command.
> 
> Identify yourself.

_Recipient ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/03/23 21.21.40_

<end of message>

You drop the comm pad from suddenly numb fingers. He was dead.

You’d known, somewhere, that this was the logical end to the path you had set him on. Had known, years ago, when you began the campaign to turn him to your own use. But it was still a blow. He was, in his own way, your only family. And you were his.

You both loved and hated each other for it. You always had. For a brief time there had been a third - but she was too wild, too feral, too…. everything.

The son. The heir. The ghost.

You were the only one left.

Getting up from the bed you begin to pace. Had he done it? Had he actually passed on the location of the Emperor? His last message…. _You’re Welcome_ … what did that mean? Could you maybe…

You snatch the comm unit from the bed and cross to the table, sitting on top of it at just the right angle. You’d discovered, through trial and error, that from this position you could hear anyone coming down the hallway with enough time to be able to stow the unit away and put yourself into a position that wouldn’t cause suspicion. Well, more suspicion.

You curl your legs under you on the table, tapping into the unit. They hadn’t thought to change your personal codes - or if they had, then no one with the authority to do so had gotten around to it. Which meant that you still had basic access to the Resistance information. The first thing you see as you delve into the communiques is an all-hands message.

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 000._ ⩤⩙. _00._ .12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/22 23.13.53_

> ALL POINTS BULLETIN::
> 
> Dameron, Poe [Pr]: General; Acting Chief, Navy; Acting Chief, Army

_Recipient ID: N/A  
_ _Received: N/A_

<end of message>

You freeze, trying to parse the short message. Poe was now a General, and in charge of the Resistance. Which meant that something dreadful must have happened to Leia. The last time this had happened, with Holdo, Leia had been on death’s door. You quickly search other bulletins, other messages. You were locked out of detailed comms - smart of them - but the basic postings you were still able to-

The words sear into you when you find them. Confirmation of something you hadn’t dared to even think about. You feel tears prickle at your eyes and send a silent prayer to the Maker.

 _Alabanza Leia Organa_.

You sag, slumping over the comm unit in your lap. Beyond the grief, beyond the pain, there was a deeper cut at the news. She was your mentor, your handler, the only person who knew about your double life. Without her… was it even possible for you to come back from this?

You head into the personnel records, finding what you’re looking for after a couple of false starts. The screen flashes at you: _Authorization Denied - Command Access Required_. Sighing, you exit the screen. It made sense, in its own way. While it was your own file, there was a better than even chance it made mention of your more illicit activities. It was safer for you if the information was locked away tightly. Not very helpful at this moment, but certainly safer.

Did Leia document your activities there? Or had she had separate files that would clear your name? Were those gone with her, or did Poe have access to them now?

Did it matter?

Leia was gone. Poe Dameron hated you.

You slip off the edge of the table, walking over and tucking the comm unit under the edge of the thin mattress before laying on the bed. Interlacing your fingers on your stomach you stare up at the ceiling.

One way or the other, you’d know soon enough you supposed.

* * *

<error>  
<code>AccessDenied</code>  
<requestID>406.⊼⊽.37.12⊻37⋀</requestID>  
<hostID> ⩤⩦⩜⋝4⩥⩛⩡+⩘⩔⩞7⋗⋋+⩜⩑⊽⊿⋉⩑+7⩙⩤⋋+⋊⋀⩑2⩢</hostID>  
</error>

* * *

New Republic Personnel File :: 34⩥5732⩞1  
Name: N/A  
Rank: Commander [*]  
Alias: Taskebah  
Affiliations: Galactic Empire, First Order, New Republic  
DOB: c.06ABY  
Family: Sloane, Rae  
Current Posting: Naval Intel and PsyOps, Ajan Kloss [ _34/08/07 -_ ]

Previous Postings:  
Naval Intel and PsyOps, _Raddus_ [ _34/08/02 - 34/08/07_ ]  
Naval Intel and PsyOps, _Home One_ [ _32/07/03_ \- _34/08/02_ ]  
Naval Intel, _Anodyne_ [ _29/07/03_ \- _32/07/03_ ]  
Naval Intel, _Vigil_ [ _27/09/15_ \- _29/07/03_ ]  
Republic Fleet Academy [ _27/06/13 - 27/09/15]_

Commendations:  
Medal of Bravery, _34/08/23  
_Distinguished Service Medal, _34/08/10  
_Naval Commendation Medal _33/01/30_  
Meritorious Service Award _30/02/21  
_Meritorious Service Award _29/11/29_

::NOTES : FOR GEN. L. ORGANA EYES ONLY:: 

30/04/10 Gen L. Organa:

> _I was approached today by someone who claims to have firsthand knowledge of the First Order._
> 
> _She calls herself Taskebah and yet asks me to trust her. She is paranoid that the First Order will discover her new intentions - has asked to work with only me. I cannot deny the proof she brings. And I know as well as anyone that the sins of the father - or in her case, mother - should not be visited upon the child._
> 
> _I am alarmed that she was able to infiltrate so far into our ranks, graduating the Academy with Honors - already cited for Meritorious Service twice. A Captain in our service - and until recently was working for the enemy. She offers herself unreservedly to us now. She will bear watching and if she proves to be trustworthy, I have hopes that she will be a great tool._
> 
> _Taskebah. It’s hard to trust one who wears such a name proudly._

33/07/21 Gen. L. Organa:

> _I am worried about Taskebah. The toll this work has been taking on her. Today is the first time I have seen her since that first day. I fear that the strain of leading a double life is going to break her. I know as well as anyone how lonely this can be._
> 
> _We push through, sending what we can, selectively editing the information that goes to the First Order. Waiting for our chance. She says she has someone in the First Order High Command, someone who might be able to turn this war into one of diplomacy and not weapons. I am cautious but if it can be done - any efforts made to end this with less bloodshed are worth pursuing._

35/03/19 Gen. L. Organa:

> _On my direct orders, Commander Taskebah has acted as a spy in our ranks, transferring carefully timed information and data to the First Order in an effort to swing the tides of this war in our favor.She has worked for me since 30/04/10 and I have secured a pardon [file ref: 5_ ⊿ _64._ ⊽ _369] for any and all crimes committed by her before that date._
> 
> _I state the above of sound mind and judgement, witnessed by my protocol droid designated C-3PO who can provide appropriate verifications._
> 
> _If anyone has betrayed us it’s me._


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has explicit sexual content.

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 000._ ⩤⩙. _00._ .12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/23 04.13.45_

> ALL POINTS BULLETIN::
> 
> ATTN: ALL TROOPS, ALL SHIPS, ALL ALLIES
> 
> The First Order has amassed a fleet on the planet Exegol in the Unknown Regions [coordinates attached]. The Resistance will be sending all of its forces for a coordinated assault to be launched at 0545 GST.
> 
> It’s time to burn the Emperor and the Final Order down once and for all.
> 
> We need you.

_Recipient ID: N/A  
_ _Received: N/A_

<end of message>

The orders were given. One last run. One last mission - bring the fight to the Emperor. They were going to throw everything they had at it and if they failed…

Well if they failed Poe Dameron was going to be responsible for the downfall of the Resistance and every spark of light left in the galaxy.

So no pressure or anything.

Around him, people were saying their final goodbyes. Casting prayers and lighting candles. Figures ran to and fro, grabbing lucky charms from their quarters, a last remembrance of a loved one to tuck next to their heart. General Calrissian had already left to gather reinforcements - if any would come - and Poe could see Finn helping to load the orbaks onto the transport. They share a nod and Finn’s eyes drop to the bundle of fabric Poe’s carrying. He raises an eyebrow but Poe shakes his head quickly. He’s not in the mood for questions.

Right now, someone is fueling his X-Wing and he should be there. He had a thousand things he should be doing in fact - not least among them preparing for what was likely to be the fight of his life. They were to leave in an hour and he could think of a thousand things he would be better off doing with his last hour than what he was.

The bunker is deserted when he arrives, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor. He presses the key code for the cell and enters it without looking at the occupant.

"You’re hurt," he hears her say.

Poe sets the green mechanic’s jumpsuit down on the table. Taking a deep breath he clenches his fist in its sling. "We’re leaving. All of us. To end this if we can. The door will remain open and there’s a few craft that won’t make the trip but should get you to the next system. Wear this and you can probably slip into some outer rim planet without too much trouble."

"Poe-"

"Run," he continues. "I won’t… No one will stop you. If anyone in the Resistance sees you again you’ll be sentenced as a traitor."

She’s silent and he turns to go, leave her there. He’d said his piece.

"You must still care. Even a little, if you’re doing this," the note of pleading in her voice slices him. Stops him. "Talk to me."

Taking a steadying breath he turns back to her, finally looking at her. She’s sitting on the bed and looks… terrible. The shirt she has on, _his_ shirt he quietly corrects, has several stains on it, her hair at turns wispy and matted. Her eyes are sunken in her face, like she hasn’t slept in days.

She wasn’t the only one.

"I’m not doing this for you," he states quietly. "I’m doing it because I made someone a promise that I would."

"Who?"

"A _friend_ ," he snaps the word off.

Understanding lights on her face. She stands up finally, slowly crossing his direction. He takes a step back when she gets too close - keeping distance between them. She stops, taking a deep breath.

"Poe I have to tell you-"

"No." He cuts her off with a wave of his uninjured arm. "I’m not interested in hearing whatever lies you’ve come up with."

"They’re not lies…"

His eyes narrow on hers and he can feel anger contorting his features. "Haven’t they all been?

"I’m so sorry for this. For everything. But you-"

"You’re _sorry_? For betraying us? For betraying _me_?" He can feel his rage welling up inside him. "You are a traitor and you deserve to rot in the deepest prisons for what you’ve done. If I ever see you again you _will_. So believe me when I say that you need to _run_. Run from me. From this. Run as far and as fast as you can."

"Poe I love-"

He moves suddenly, shoving her against the wall of the small cell. " _Don’t_. I don’t want to hear it."

He’s not surprised when her hands snake around his neck or when she pulls him towards her. The moment he had touched her he felt the same bone deep need to sink inside of her. To press himself to her and feel that old magic, just one more time. He thrusts his tongue into her mouth the moment she parts her lips. He can feel her body shifting beneath his palm, where he still pressed her to the wall. He doesn’t have time to think about what she’s doing before both of her thighs are pressed to his hips. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up, that she’s got her feet against the table and is pressing herself to the wall - using her hands to draw his hips into her and he goes willingly.

This is just a moment, he tells himself. One passing moment where he can forget everything between them and just let his body remember hers. He doesn’t help her, but nor does he stop her when her fingers drop between their bodies. He just keeps kissing her as though his sanity depends on it.

The cool touch of her fingers on his bare skin is enough to make him snarl, to twist his hand until it cups her neck, his thumb pressing to her throat. He can feel every rush of breath she takes, every beat of her heart. When she pulls him forward and guides him inside of her he feels the shudder that goes through her.

His mouth never leaves hers, his hips rocking up into her. He holds her by the throat and _fucks_ her until he can’t think, can’t see straight. Until stars explode behind his eyes and he hears her cry out at the same moment his own release floods through him.

They stay like that a moment, mouths pressed together, breath mingling, neither of them moving. Just a moment. A passing moment.

But too soon reality intrudes. Too soon he is stepping away, tucking himself back into his pants and trying not to watch her brush the tears from her cheeks. Trying not to reach out and catch her as she stumbles putting both feet back on the floor.

Moments are special because they don’t last.

Taking a deep breath he gives her his final warning. "Run. Don’t run. It’s entirely up to you. But don’t ever let me see you again."

He leaves her there crying, keeping his own promise and not looking back.


	25. Chapter 25

You sink to the ground as you watch him go. Hear his footsteps leave you. Whatever hope you might have had that there was something out there to clear you, something out there that might convince him you were not what he thought, that hope is gone. Shattered in pieces on the floor with the remains of your heart.

You cry. Wracking sobs that shudder through your body until you can barely breathe anymore. You let the tears come, feel your pain flow out of you until you’re left empty of it. And then you stand, picking up the jumpsuit he left you and stepping into it. Your mind is racing and you quickly strip off the old shirt and zip the suit up to your collar. You retrieve your comm pad and tuck it into the pocket on the calf.

You had one last mission.

The trip from the cell to your quarters is both easier and more difficult than you thought it might be. People are everywhere, making it impossible to avoid them. But everyone is so caught up in their own preparation that no one pays you any mind. Even your lack of shoes - apparently Poe’s promise didn’t extend to those - doesn’t raise any questions. You duck into the bunker where your quarters are located. Darting eyes up and down the hall, you enter the door code - praying that Poe isn’t in there.

It’s a wreck. The room looks like a tornado has passed through it. Clothes strewn about, the desk upended. In the corner, you can see the small plant you had gifted him on its side - wilted and brown.

No one has been here in quite some time.

Carefully, you begin to dig through the mess, pulling out your clothes but looking for something you were hoping against all hope hadn’t been destroyed. After several tense minutes your hand closes over the cool disc. You pull your necklace out from under a pair of pants, sighing in relief. Quickly you change into your clothes, dropping the medallion over your head, and pulling on a pair of boots. You turn to leave, then pause. Taking a deep breath you set the desk back upright, closer to the center of the room and carefully wipe off a place in the center. The metal, still warm from your hand, makes a small _tink_ noise when you set it down. Nodding to yourself you dart out the door, leaving every part of yourself behind.

Back in the light, you look around for someone who you might be able to… there. Finn. You duck a crate of seismic charges and grab his arm, pulling him under a piece of netting and out of sight.

When he sees you his eyes go wide and he opens his mouth but you quickly clamp a hand over it, pushing him back against a low table. Holding your necklace up with the other hand you dip your nail into the catch, watching his eyes follow the movement as it falls open, revealing the contents.

"Mrmmph mar mmph _mrpphm_?"

"Do you know what this is?" You hold the disc up. He nods. "Where do I take this to do the most good?" His gaze narrows and you carefully remove your hand.

"Don’t you work for the First Order?" Finn asks suspiciously.

"Didn’t you?" You ask with a raised eyebrow. "We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. Now tell me, where can I take this to do the most good?"

He looks at it, then at you. "My ship is planning a landing raid. We could use a set of Captain’s codes to get through the shields."

Laughing, you pry the medallion out from the necklace, showing him the other side. "You put this in your ship and not only will you get through the shields, they won’t be able to fire on you."

"Is that an _Admiral’s_ medallion?"

"Yep, and there’s only one person in the universe who can override its authorization. And I’m pretty sure the Emperor is going to be busy."

Finn reaches out and you drop it into his hand. It had been a part of you for nearly a decade, waiting for the right moment. It felt bittersweet to give it up but if there was ever a time…

"Where did you get this?" Finn asks incredulously.

"Family heirloom," you respond with a half smile. "Now, will you take me with you?"

Finn shakes his head. "Why are you helping us? Poe said-"

"I know what Poe thinks," you cut him off. "And I know who I am. Let me help. Please."

He nods slowly at you, gripping the medallion in his hand. "You broke his heart you know," Finn says as he goes to move past you.

"I know," you reply, tailing him to the _Fortitude_ and quickly ducking inside. There’s several people you don’t know, holding the reins of…

"Are those orbaks?" You ask.

Finn nods, moving forward and handing the medallion over to the pilot. Thankfully not Poe. You hadn’t even thought to ask, had assumed he would be in his X-Wing. But Maker would that have been awkward. You grab a strap above your head as the craft lifts off.

An angry beeping at your feet and something heavy runs over your toes. You look down and see BB-8 twirling angrily. A port opens on its side and you hear an electric buzz. Quickly, you use the strap to lift yourself off the ground, pulling your legs out of the droid’s reach just in time.

"Finn!" You call out but it’s Rose who comes instead, holding an electric prod in her own hand. Sighing, you slowly lower your feet back to the floor. "Hey?"

"What are _you_ doing here?" She snarls and BB-8 echoes the accusation.

"Helping," you reply, eyeing the two of them warily.

"I think we’ve had enough of _your_ help traitor," Rose snaps.

"Whoa whoa," suddenly Finn is standing between you, forcing both Rose and BB-8 to back up. "None of that. She’s helping."

" _Helping_?" Rose asks incredulously and BB-8 echoes with a high pitched whistle.

"Helping," Finn states with finality.

You hold your breath when the fleet arrives at Exegol. You’ve never actually used the medallion before, were relying entirely on what your mother had said about it. But as the blasts from the Star Destroyers rain around you, you realize that none are hitting the _Fortitude_. You mother was right, an Imperial Fleet _can’t_ fire on an Admiral. And as far as this fleet was concerned, you were Rae Sloane, hero of the Empire.

When the radio tower goes dark Finn re-routes the ship to the _Steadfast_. You point out to the pilot the best landing spot, and it sets and drops its cargo of riders with no trouble. You watch as they ride out, taking out cannons and dropping explosives. Cursing, you grab the pilot’s blaster and head to the cargo doors, covering the fighters. It’s too much. In the sky you can see ship after ship go down. Every X-Wing lost makes a piece of your heart lurch, wondering if it’s him.

You barely register the first blip. The first dot to appear. But it’s quickly followed by another. Then ten more. Then a hundred. Soon you’re looking up at thousands of ships filling the sky above Exegol. Your blaster drops to your side in wonder as you watch the galaxy come to the aid of the Resistance for one final flight.

Tears well in your eyes and you shake yourself, taking aim to cover the returning troops. Once departed, you try to help the wounded, applying pressure and just doing what you can.

You hear Rose call out that Finn was still on the ship and you nearly burst from your skin, anxious to help. But the radio traffic is echoing through the ship and you hear the rescue come through. Hear Poe’s voice, that beautiful voice, saying "We did it."

You think hard on the trip back. What your next steps are going to be. You wait on the _Fortitude_ as everyone else disembarks. Rose gives you a short nod as she leaves and you return it. Despite your actions, you don’t believe for a moment that she won’t hand you over to Poe the moment she sees him. You need to get off Ajan Kloss. _Now_.

Carefully, you slip down the loading ramp, ducking around the side of the transport. Across the field, you can see a group of civilians near a freighter. It looks like they might be leaving. Ducking your head to avoid being recognized, you slink around the base. You’re concentrating so hard and not being seen that you almost trip over BB-8. The little droid gives a warning whistle and you hesitate. Crouching down, you look the droid directly in its camera.

"I know you don’t like me. But I love your dad and I know you do too. He told me I could leave."

The droid makes a dubious trilling noise.

"I don’t know what I can say to convince you. But you also heard Finn say I was helping. Do you trust Finn?"

An affirmative beep.

"Well then, okay," you stand, brushing your hands against your pants. You watch the droid take off into the underbrush and smile. Then freeze as your eyes are caught on Poe. He’s got Finn and Rey in his arms and they are hugging each other so tight they look like they’ll never let go. You take a steadying breath, knowing that at least you weren’t leaving him alone. Then you turn and cross quickly to the freighter.

"Are you heading off-world?" You call out as someone tosses a crate up to a crewmate on the ship.

"Where you heading?" They ask.

You don’t look back, don’t let yourself think of what you’re leaving behind.

"Anywhere but here."


	26. Chapter 26

"Alabanza Snap," Poe raises his cup and hears the echoes from around him.

He was sitting with his friends around a small fire. Further on, the celebrations were going strong and would likely continue into the night. But here, Poe sat with Rey, Finn, Rose, and Chewie and just took a moment to breathe.

They had been interspersing their toasts to the departed with toasts to each other and Rey beats him to the next one. "To Finn, for successfully launching a ground assault on a Star Destroyer. I wish I could have seen it," she grins at Finn and Finn grins back

"How did you do it?" Poe relaxes back against the stump of the tree, holding his cup out for Chewie to refill with the fuel line cleaner he called booze. "How did you get through to the _Steadfast_ without taking a single hit?"

"I uh," Finn darts a look at Rose whose eyes go wide and she gives him a quick shake of her head. "Luck I guess."

"I saw that," Poe points out. "What’s going on? More secrets?"

"No," Finn rushes out, "just… you’re kind of touchy about it and-"

"Finn!" Rose’s voice cuts the man off and Finn looks at her with wide eyes.

"Well then help me!" he pleads.

Poe turns on Rose. "You’ll tell me?"

She shakes her head quickly. Eyes wide. "No sir."

Poe glares at both of them but Finn just raises an eyebrow. "I don’t have to call you sir, you promoted me."

Poe snorts, looking around before seeing his salvation "BB, buddy, you were on the _Fortitude_ , tell me what happened."

"BB _no_!" Finn shouts but the droid is already buzzing and whirling, trilling a mile a minute as he recounts every minute of their mission. As he beeps, Poe’s face goes dark, the smile dropping into a stoney expression.

When BB-8 finishes, Poe looks up at Finn. He doesn’t know what his face looks like but whatever it is makes the man blanche and jerk back. "Poe…"

"What did she give you?"

Rose coughs and reaches into a pocket, giving Finn a regretful shrug. She tosses Poe a small disc and he catches it, holding it up to the firelight. "The Captain’s Medallion? From Kijimi?"

But Finn is shaking his head. "An _Admiral’s_ medallion. With that onboard the destroyers weren’t able to fire on us. We didn’t take a single hit."

Poe leans forward, tilting it into the firelight and studying the markings. "3PO what does this say?"

The droid shuffles over and looks at it. "The alphabet is ancient, a dialect of Cheunh I believe…"

"3PO," Poe snaps, "What does it say."

"Sloane, sir."

Poe waves him silent, staring at the medallion. Sloane, Sloane, why did that ring a bell?

"She said it was a family heirloom," Finn offers.

" _Fuck_ ," Poe breathes out as the recognition hits. _Rae Sloane_. Not just _an_ Admiral. A _Grand_ Admiral. _The_ Grand Admiral even. Commander of the _Vigilance_ at the Battle of Endor. The face of the Empire for years. She had disappeared after the Battle of Jakku. A legend up there with Skywalker himself.

Suddenly Poe jolts forward. "3PO, what does Taskebah mean in Cheunh?"

The droid is hesitant, "I’m afraid I cannot-"

Poe cuts him off, gripping the medallion in his fist as he turns. "Yeah, yeah. You were ordered not to. Well I’m Head of the Resistance now. Tell me."

C-3PO tilts its head and then nods. "Betrayer."

"What?" The question comes from Rose.

"Taskebah," C3PO turns to her, raising one arm slightly, "a word in old Cheunh. Literally translated it means betrayer."

Poe starts laughing. He can’t help it. Slowly he presses one hand to his face and just laughs. At the word. At the situation. At himself. "No wonder she didn’t like being called that," he mutters after a minute, wiping at his eyes.

He looks up and sees his four friends staring at him in various stages of concern. It’s Rey who speaks up. "Poe, is it possible you were wrong about her?"

"No." The word is stated with finality, with all vehemence he could put behind it. If he was wrong then that meant… but no. He wasn’t, she had confessed. Confessed to passing on messages to the First Order. Even Leia had…

What _had_ Leia done? He thinks back, sifting through memories currently clouded by one too many drinks. When he had told Leia about Taske- about the Commander she hadn’t responded. Her face had gone white and she had insisted on talking to her. After that all interrogations had ceased, the guards he had stationed removed from the cell.

He grits his teeth, if Leia had known something she would have said something. He pushes himself to his feet unsteadily, giving the group a lopsided smile. "I think I’m done for tonight. Alabanza," he raises his cup to them, draining it before handing it back to Chewie and walking away. He can hear the hushed murmurs behind him, the accusing questions and affronted trilling from BB-8.

Without thought his feet carry him home. Their home. He pauses outside the door, hand hovering over the panel before sighing and entering the code. When the door slides open it’s just as he remembers. The same wreckage he had left behind on that night.

Except for one thing.

The desk has been set back upright in the center of the room. In the middle of it, placed with careful precision, is his mother’s ring. He stares at it, just stands and there and stares before collapsing onto the bed and letting darkness overtake him.

Poe wakes the next morning with a splitting headache. His back hurt from sleeping across a pile of things that had been flung on the bed and he had been incapable of moving before passing out. He cracks an eye and groans, grimacing at the bright morning sun flooding in from the skylight.

It’s a miracle he drags himself to Command. There’s cleanup ongoing across the galaxy, and orders needed to be given to keep things running for the near future. The threat of the First Order was neutralized, but that didn’t mean the work was over. Not yet. Not _quite_ yet.

He delegates everything he can, promoting some people on the spot. By the early afternoon he can tuck himself away with a set of data pads and a comm unit and have a moment to really think. If he was right about … what could he call her? Taskebah was obviously not going to work. She said she didn’t have a name and calling her his Sweetheart - well, he wasn’t ready for that. So her then. Just… Her.

If he was right about her and the messages he had seen on her comm pad then she was irredeemable. A spy who had sent thousands to their deaths. Sighing, he pulls up her messages, using his override codes to gain access.

They’re all still there. Their love letters interspersed with her communication to the First Order. Right there for anyone to see. He reads through them again, looking for _something_ that might absolve her. But they were all as he remembered. Troop movements, base coordinates, supply runs… he pauses, eyes skimming over that one. She had gotten the time wrong. He remembered that one clearly, had groused about being out so late and away from her. She had gotten it wrong by a full ten hours, adding a digit that didn’t belong.

A mistake?

He looks at the other information more closely. He doesn’t remember all of them but finds one more where the information sent wasn’t _quite_ right. Enough to get them caught, but also to give them a fighting chance. He glares at the screen.

Was it intentional?

How would he know? These were what she had sent, how could he know what she was thinking while she sent them. Idly, he goes to exit and sees a file he hadn’t paid much attention to.

 _Drafts_.

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<draft message>

 _Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Last Draft:_ 34/07/28 00.09.43  
_Sent: N/A_

> I miss you.

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: N/A_

<message unsent>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<draft message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Last Draft: 34/08/01 23.45.07  
_ _Sent: N/A_

> I’ve met someone. Someone… amazing. He makes me laugh and he kisses me like I’m worth holding on to. I look into his eyes and I see a universe reflected back at me. I want to reach out and grab on to him but there’s only one problem…
> 
> He’s not you.

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: N/A_

<message unsent>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<draft message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Last Draft: 34/08/06 03.35.54  
_ _Sent: N/A_

> I can’t stand the idea of losing you.
> 
> Please please please dear Gods above. Maker shelter them and keep them. I can’t do this anymore. Not without them. Please. I’ll give anything. Just keep them safe.

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: N/A_

<message unsent>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<draft message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Last Draft: 34/08/07 14.32.17  
_ _Sent: N/A_

> I can see you from here. See you sleeping. I want to go to you. I want to wrap myself around you and never let go. I love you. I think I’ve loved you for longer than I’ve been aware of your existence. You shine so bright, so beautiful. How could I ever drag you down into the dark with me?

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: N/A_

<message unsent>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<draft message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Last Draft: 34/11/17 21.33.45  
_ _Sent: N/A_

> Every day that goes by and I don’t tell you I feel my soul die a little inside. How do you tell someone you’re everything they hate? How do I tell you the evils I’ve done in the name of good? Leia and I try, but I know there is blood on my hands. There always will be. How could you ever let me touch you knowing what I’ve done?
> 
> I love you. I love you so much it hurts, reaches up and strangles me sometimes. I wish you were someone else. Someone less good. Less heroic. Less… you. Someone I wouldn’t feel so bad ruining.
> 
> And so I don’t tell you. Leia said we can worry about that tomorrow - and there’s always another tomorrow.

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: N/A_

<message unsent>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<draft message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Last Draft: 35/01/07 17.14.12  
_ _Sent: N/A_

> I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep lying to everyone. Every time a ship goes out I wonder if I’ve doomed it. You can talk all you want about the war - about the greater good - but all I see are people dying because of things I’ve done. The things you’re making me do.

_Recipient ID: 102._ ⩑⋌ .32.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: N/A_

<message unsent>

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<draft message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Last Draft: 34/03/25 06.17.34  
_ _Sent: N/A_

> I’m leaving. I won’t risk the comm unit out there and so I’ll leave it behind but when I went to set it down something prompted me to
> 
> I don’t know why I’m writing this I’ll never send it
> 
> I love you
> 
> I love you
> 
> I love you
> 
> And I’m so sorry

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: N/A_

<message unsent>

Poe takes a shuddering breath when he finishes the last message. He can feel tears burning just behind his eyelids. _Leia_. She said Leia knew. And the RecipientID: _102._ ⩑⋌.32.12⊻ _37_ ⋀, he recognizes it too. Leia’s personal ID. As far as he knew there were only three or four people in the galaxy that had it.

He switches the units over to Leia’s files quickly, skimming the messages for a moment before searching specifically for hers.

Thirty minutes later he sits back, comm pad falling uselessly from his numb fingers, Leia’s final message from the personnel file seared into his brain.

_If anyone has betrayed us it’s me._

He moves so quickly he gets dizzy, placing a hand down on the table to steady himself before running into Command. A few orders, a field promotion for a Colonel, and he’s tying up any loose ends that won’t wait.

His next stop is his quarters, no, _their_ quarters. He packs a bag quickly, scooping the ring off the table and sliding back onto the chain around his neck. He had every hope he would be able to return it to its rightful owner soon.

He finds Chewie at the dining area and it doesn’t take more than a few quick questions for the Wookie to wrap him in a hug and agree to join him with the _Falcon_.

He’s in the process of disconnecting the fuel lines when he hears a loud, pointed cough from the ground below. Finn and Rey are looking up at him, identical expressions on their faces.

"Don’t try to stop me," he tells them, jumping down. "I have to go after her. I have to fix this."

"We know," Finn shrugs, tossing a bag Poe hadn’t noticed at him which he catches reflexively. "But you’re not going alone."

"No one goes alone," Rey says with a soft smile.

Poe pauses, looking at his two friends, and then grunts when Finn throws an arm over his shoulders.

"Also, I want to be there when she kicks your ass," Finn grins.

"That too," Rey agrees.

Poe shakes his head, rolling his eyes, but follows them up the _Falcon_ ’s ramp. He would find her.

He _had_ to find her.


	27. Chapter 27

It was better this way.

Perhaps, had you stayed, you might have convinced him. Perhaps if you had begged and pleaded with him enough he might have listened to you. After what happened on Exegol there was a chance Finn would be on your side, and even if Poe wouldn’t listen to you he might listen to Finn.

It was possible.

It was also possible that you would find yourself in Sunspot Prison before you had time to blink and never set another foot on free soil again. That wasn’t just possible, it was likely.

It was better this way.

Now you could gather the ragged pieces of your heart and try to make a new life. A new start. You’d never done that before. Everywhere you had gone you had always carried the specter of your mother with you. Sins begun before you were born. Sins you had picked up before you were old enough to walk. Your first words had been 'Hail Emperor’, your first steps taken to the beat of an Imperial drum. For all your mother had made clear she didn’t want you, she never shirked on impressing upon you _exactly_ what your duty was.

Duty had been your entire life. In the Unknown Regions, running alongside Armitage. Trying to fight your way to a freedom neither of you knew what to do with. And then falling, falling so far into the depths of the Empire that you had forgotten you ever yearned for anything else. It had been the death of Hux’s father that had broken the fall. Had shown you the depth of how far you had gone.Two pairs of blue eyes, cold as ice, that had taken what you had done in fear to protect your family and twisted it into a ploy for power.

And then there had been Leia. And your duties to the Resistance. Never getting close to anyone for fear you would allow something to slip through. That you would make a mistake and put them at risk. Years of loneliness, the only person you could be honest with on the far end of a comm unit. Someone who spoke in staccato orders and half phrases. Your mentor, your teacher, your General. All that you had for so long…

And then _him_ …

But you weren’t ready to face that thought yet. Weren’t ready to confront the man who had carefully gathered your soul in his arms and burnt it to cinders.

 _Death is lighter than a feather. Duty heavier than a mountain_.

Your mother’s voice had echoed in your head as you stepped on the freighter on Ajan Kloss and left all your duties behind. For the first time, you were free of any obligations. Any ties. For the first time in your life…

You owed no one anything.

At first you were only concerned with being certain you couldn’t be followed. You were a high value target. To both the Resistance and the failing First Order at this point. Anyone who had seen the Sloane name at the Battle of Exegol would know what you had done.

In the first week you had four hyperspace jumps on four different ships. You had been to six planets, carefully laying a trail and then abandoning it. You had even managed to do a mid-air transfer to another ship.

If anyone tried to follow you, their trail would have gone cold long before now.

And you used different names at each stop. Names of flowers. Names of gems. Names of people you knew as a child. Before they became numbers, before they had their name stripped from them. You tried them all on for size - able to, for the first time, decide who you wanted to be instead of having the choice made for you.

And everywhere you went you carried him with you. Every night your dreams of him splintered inside your heart, just a bit, until you worried you would never be able to put it back together again. You woke with salt on your lips, your face wet from crying. Whatever happy memories you had, they were swallowed by your grief. Every smile of his twisted into his snarling face as he told you to _Run_.

And you did.

You ran until your meager supply of credits whittled away to nothing. Ran until you could no longer find anyone willing to pay you for your out of date secrets. Ran until you could run no more and you sank beneath the shade of a clay building and contemplated why you were bothering to run at all.

You knew what you were running _from_.

What were you running _to_?

This world’s sun was brighter than you were used to. It beat down, casting the world into stark shadows and making the ground shine almost as bright. In the middle of the day, it was nearly impossible to be out with eye protection. You used your bag, ratty and empty at this point, to shield your face and watched the people at the small fountain go about their day.

There were worse places.

You settle your head back against the wall, staring up into the endless blue sky. Who were you if you weren’t the little ghost girl, always attached to Hux’s side? Who were you if you weren’t Taskebah, decorated Resistance operative?

Who were you if you weren’t Poe Dameron’s?

You shut your eyes, feel sleep beating inside your skull. It would be so easy to just… let go. Be done. To stop running for good. You sigh, sinking further into the shade, letting your head loll on your neck.

It would be so easy.

_Death is lighter than a feather…_

Your eyes fly open and you push yourself to your feet with a snarl. You did not come this far, fight this hard to fucking _give up_. You might not have a name but you knew who you were.

You were the daughter of Rae Sloane, the oath-sister of Armitage Hux, and you had fought harder for your life than any child should ever be expected to.

You were a spy, a damned good one. Keeping the trust of the First Order while gnawing away at them from the inside.

You were an Officer in the Resistance. You had _earned_ the rank of Commander through your dedication to the ideals of the Republic.

And you were a woman who had once loved stronger and brighter than you ever thought was possible. And been loved in return.

You were _not_ going to die because you _gave up_. The Maker could come down and fight you themself if they had a problem with that.

You stagger slightly, holding a hand against the wall for balance as you look around the small village. You don’t remember how you got here. You weren’t even sure what planet you were on. But it looked cozy and large enough to welcome strangers even if they didn’t get them often.

"Do you need help?"

And they were friendly too. You turn to the voice, trying to find your best smile, the one that put people at ease.

"You know, I just might."


	28. Chapter 28

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 000._ ⩤⩙. _00._ .12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/03/30 09.00.08_

> ALL POINTS BULLETIN::
> 
> Taskebah [Pr]: Commander*; Colonel
> 
> Threnalli, C'ai [Pr]: Major
> 
> Connix, Kayel Ko [Pr]: Captain
> 
> [*] _Reinstatement_

_Recipient ID: N/A  
_ _Received: N/A_

<end of message>

She didn’t want to be found. That much was clear. He had told her to run and she had done a _damn_ good job of it.

It had been more than a month.

They were heading back to Ajan Kloss. After the first ten days he hadn’t been able to keep away entirely. Leia had left him in charge and no matter how many people he tried to work with, how many people he entrusted things to - there was still the matter of rebuilding the Republic. And it seemed like everyone expected _him_ to do it.

If he was being a hundred percent honest with himself he was grateful to have the distraction of looking for her. He wasn’t ready to take on the burdens yet. Wasn’t even sure _how_ to do so. General Calrissian had said to rely on his friends. To do it together.

Well, he wanted to do it with _her_.

They were in hyperspace, would be for another hour or two. With the course set and no need to be in the cockpit, the four of them were down in the crew commons. Finn and Chewie were playing dejarik at the table, Rey had the door to her berth open and was sitting up, reading. Poe just slumped, with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. He was holding a data pad, but he’d long since stopped thumbing through the logs on it. It was too easy for someone to get lost in the galaxy if they really wanted to.

"What are you going to say to her?" Finn’s voice cuts through his haze.

Poe looks up from the floor, unclear on how long he’s been wrapped in his thoughts. "What?"

Finn moves a piece and then turns to look at him. "If - _when_ you find her? What are you going to say?" Finn asks again.

Poe shakes his head, leaning back and setting the data pad on the bench next to him. "I don’t know. I figured I’d start with 'I’m sorry' and go from there." Finn snorts and Chewie groans. Even Rey looks up from her book and then glances away quickly when he looks that direction. "What?"

"We’ve been out here for a month chasing her and you haven’t put any thought into what you’re going to say when you find her?" Finn’s eyebrow is arched so high it looks like a question mark over his eye.

"I _did_ put thought into it," Poe insists. "I’m going to say I’m sorry."

"You have that woman arrested. Thrown in a cell. You call her a traitor - and tell her to run for her life." Finn ticks off each point on a finger, one by one. "And the best you’re going to offer is 'I’m sorry'?"

Poe grunts. "I’m _really_ sorry?"

Chewie groans at him again and Finn shakes his head, "Well this is going to be a wasted trip."

Poe’s eyes dart from Finn to Chewie. "C’mon it’s not gonna be that bad… Is it?"

Finn grunts, moving another piece. "You think it won’t? Chewie, how bad do _you_ think it’s gonna be?"

"Ggwwwrgh," Chewie rumbles.

"Chewie thinks you’re fucked," Finn helpfully translates.

"I know what Chewie said," Poe snaps, "and you’re both overreacting." But inside he was terrified. Ignoring the two at the dejarik table he crosses over and waits for Rey to move her legs before sitting next to her.

"You’re a," he waves one hand, generally encompassing her, "help me out, how do I apologize to her?"

Rey raises an eyebrow at the gesture and lifts her eyes from her book, not otherwise acknowledging him. "I’m not the one to ask. I spent most of my life alone on Jakku. I’ve never been in this situation."

"But you’re a…" he trails off.

Now she turns her head to him. "No, go on."

From across the room he hears Finn call out, "Stop bothering Rey and grow some backbone. Here’s what you gotta do-"

Poe grunts and turns on him, "Finn, how many relationships have _you_ been in?"

Finn looks affronted. "I don’t see what that has to do with anything."

Sighing, Poe turns to the last person on the crew. "Maker help me, Chewie?"

"Rawrgwawggr," Chewie says casually.

Poe sits bolt upright and sees Finn and Rey do the same. "You’re _married_?"

"Rrrraarrwhhgwwr," Chewie moves one of his pieces, not even looking up from the board.

"For forty _years?_ " Poe asks incredulously.

"Chewie, buddy, why didn’t you tell us," Finn asks, holding his hands up.

Poe crosses to sit across from the Wookie, using his hip to push Finn out of the way. "Chewie, help me out here, what do I do?"

"Aaararrrgwwwh."

"Uh huh," Poe nods.

"Gggwarrrhhwww"

"Okay."

"Poe I don’t that’s going to-" Finn sounds concerned.

Poe rounds on him, "Do you have a better idea?"

Finn blinks before jerking his head. " _Literally_ dozens."

"That’s what I thought," Poe responds, "Now Chewie, after I gather the chinar wood what’s next?"

Whatever Chewie’s recommendation was going to be is cut off by the insistent beep of an incoming comms message. Poe switches the table over to the holo video, ignoring Finn and Chewie’s sounds of protest. Lush green jungle frames a wrinkled yellow face.

"Hey Maz," Poe gives her his most charming grin. "Please tell me you have something."

"I just might," she smiles at him. "A week or so ago someone matching her description traded part of a Resistance uniform on Cantonica," Maz Kanata tells him brightly. "It’s not much but the only lead we’ve had in a while."

"Cantonica?" Finn mutters next to him. "She went to _Canto Bight_?"

"Thanks Maz, you’re the best," Poe tells her. She nods at him and winks before ending her transmission.

"Canto Bight," Finn says again, practically spitting the words.

"At least it’s not one of those horrible desert planets where it’s all sand and heat and miserable people," Poe offers.

"Hey," Rey says from the bunk.

"No offense," Poe grins at her.

"Full offense!" Finn calls from behind him.

The argument that ensues lasted an hour, an hour of his life Poe would never see again. It only ended when the _Falcon_ dropped out of hyperspace and landed back at Ajan Kloss. Poe was anxious to chase the new lead, but it was a full forty-eight hours before he could get back on the ship. Too much that needed to be done at Command. Things he really should be there to do.

He’d have thought, by now, that Finn and Rey would have given up this search with him. This wasn’t their problem to fix and the search for her had gone on longer than any of them had anticipated. But when he had tried to tell them that Rey had just glared at him and Finn and rolled his eyes and pushed past Poe back on to the _Falcon_.

Following Maz Kanata’s intel, they land on the outskirts of Canto Bight. Finn mutters some choice words about the local authorities so Poe makes sure to land in an appropriate landing port where he pays far too many credits for a berth. Then they begin asking their questions.

"She’s beautiful," he tells a fruit merchant. "She has a laugh that just sings through your blood, like wind in the air. And her eyes - if you’d met her you’d know. Beautiful and deep. They can pierce right through to the heart of you."

Beside him he hears Finn sigh, lifting an arm. "About yay high, human female?"

Poe glares at him for reducing the sum total of the woman he loves down to a gesture and two words. Finn gives him an exasperated look back while Rey gives more physical details to the merchant. The merchant shrugs when she finishes and shakes her head. Sighing the three turn back to the crowded market.

"Where could she _be_?" Poe mutters.

"It’s possible she was never-"Poe whirls on Rey so fast he can hear her teeth click shut and she cuts herself off with wide eyes and quick shake of her head.

"Where’s Chewie?"

They all look around, then do so again with more care.

"How do you lose a Wookie?" Finn asks incredulously.

"Maker help me," Poe mutters, walking back in the direction of the ship.

"Wwwrrgghhhwwhh."

Poe jerks his head to the side and sees Chewie, holding a small human kid by the arm. "Chewie what are you…?" But then he sees it. The kid is wearing a Resistance uniform. Or at least, the uniform jacket. Someone has carefully removed any insignia but he’d recognize the cut and fabric anywhere.

"Oh Chewie, my pal. Good job." Poe rushes over, only vaguely aware of his two friends following him. "Hey, you. Hey kid? Where did you get this?"

"I bought it fair and square," the kid spits and Poe sighs.

"I’m not doubting it. I’m trying to find the person who had it last. Where is she?"

The kid squirms and Poe nods at Chewie to let him go. The kid jerks the jacket down and glares at Poe under a mess of blonde hair. "She said she was leaving town."

 _Fuck_. "Did she say to what planet?"

"Not off-world, just… out there." The kid gestures and Poe looks down the street. They are on the edge of the sprawling city and he can see where the street gives way to the space port. And past that…

Thousands of miles of rock and sand.

"Out _there_?" He asks incredulously.

But the kid is gone, taking their brief moment of distraction to dart off. Chewie starts to follow him but Poe stops him with a hand on his arm. "Don’t worry about him." Poe stares off into the distance. He had sort of known that Cantonica was a desert planet. But everyone who came here went to Canto Bight. Or stayed by the artificial sea. No one went out into the dunes. He wasn’t even sure there were settlements out there.

"Why is it _always_ the desert planets?" He asks no one in particular.

"Because they’re the _best_ ," Rey grins at him.

"What, the flyboy doesn’t like a little sand?" Finn mocks, already moving back to the space port.

"Gggrrwwhhhrrr," Chewie rumbles and Poe gives him a sympathetic look.

"At least you’re on my side," Poe sighs.


	29. Chapter 29

It’s not a surprise that you see Poe in town that morning. You’d seen him every day since you left him. In the market when you were buying your food. Sitting at the bar where you went to forget him. Even once in a little boy with a too-big nose and black curls. He looked just like the child you and Dameron might have had if you’d not been… who you were.

So no, it was not a surprise when you see him, for just a moment. There and then gone as quick as a trick of the light.

You’d been in town for around ten days. The woman who had found you was nice enough to take you in out of the heat and let you rest. She introduced herself as Arklei and allowed you to use her sonic cleaner and after an hour both you and your clothes looked _significantly_ better than when your day had started. She was your favorite person so far.

From there, a few quick asks around town had found that there was an merchant on the outskirts of who was looking for help. He ran a restaurant in the evenings but needed someone to be up early and accept deliveries and cleanup form the night before. The money he offered was a pittance but it came with room and board which made it perfect for you.

"Ch’acevi," you turn at the sound of your name. Your new name. One you had chosen. It felt good to have picked something that didn’t make you flinch every time you heard it. Something that actually made you feel good about yourself.

You smile when you see Arklei, leaning out on her balcony. Waving, you motion to see if she wants you to come up but she shakes her head and calls down instead. "No, do not bother. You are shopping for your dinner, no?"

You sigh, holding up the withered greens you had been looking at. "Cooking is not my strong suit."

She laughs and points, "Two streets over, there is a place. A red awning. Tell them Arklei sent you, yes?"

You smile back and carefully set the limp plants back down at the stall, ignoring the glare of the merchant. "Thank you!" You shout and wave up, seeing her return it before she goes back inside.

Taking your time on the walk, you enjoy the sights and sounds of the market. When you turn the corner you see _him_ again. That same scarf around his neck, same shirt with the sleeves rolled up, same pants slung low on his hips. Looking like you never left him. Like he never broke your heart.

You ignore him, like you always do. Don’t try to convince yourself that those are his hands, his strong thighs. You had done that the first few times, avoided the face - the face always gave the game away - but just studied the figure and pretended for a few moments that he was here with you. But that only made it so much worse when you had to confront the fact that he wasn’t. That he was far away - hating you.

So now you ignore them. All of them. Let the mirages dissipate until there is nothing there but the vague outlines of a memory. Just as the one had this morning. There was no point wasting your time on something that wasn’t there. What _was_ here was some chorba fruit, sitting ripe and tantalizing on a table to your left and exactly what you wanted to get through the day.

"Hey Gorgeous."

You freeze, hand outstretched towards the fruit. That was _his_ voice. You heard it in your dreams every night. Telling you he loved you. That he hated you. Calling you beautiful. Calling you a traitor. But of course it wasn’t him. There was no reason for him to be here. No reason to have travelled so far.

Swallowing, you turn your head slowly. Do you even want it to be him? Can you take another round like the last one, full of anger and betrayal? You died every night, impaled on the look he had given you when he had found out. If it was him, then how had he found you? You had tried so hard, left no trace that couldn’t be avoided. No, it wasn’t possible.

It takes you a moment to realize your eyes are shut. But you don’t open them, just stay turned to where the voice had come from. You bite your lower lip, brow furrowed in concentration. "Please don’t be here." The words are intended to be between you and the Maker, but he’s the one who responds.

"I’m sorry."

It hits you like a blow and you flinch, jerking away from him and ducking your head down. You drop your hand, pulling it into a fist clutched to your chest. No no no no. This couldn’t be happening. You weren’t prepared. _Please Maker_ , you try again, _please do this for me_.

"Please," you say out loud but you get no reply from the heavens, just the man. Closer this time.

"I am _so_ sorry."

He sounds close enough to touch. Close enough that you imagine you can feel his breath in your ear. Close enough to smell the soap he uses and the salty tang of his skin beneath it.

"You told me I could go. You told me I could _run_." It’s a plea. You hate the strain in your voice, the begging. But you can’t do this. You _can’t_.

"I did," comes his reply, close enough to make you shudder. "I never said I wouldn’t chase you."

But you barely hear him, you’re sobbing now, pressing your face into your palms. His hands slide behind your head, pulling you to him, holding you against his shoulder and wrapping around you while your body shakes in his arms.

"Please. My friend. Please," there is an edge to his voice you’ve never heard before. A hard note of pleading. "Please don’t cry. I’m so sorry." But that only makes you cry harder, fists balled into his shirt.

You don’t pay attention to what happens next, don’t pay attention to where he leads you until you feel him setting you down on a bench in the shade and you finally gather enough of your control to let him go. Wrapping your arms around yourself and taking several deep, calming breaths. He’s not touching you, but you can feel his presence next to yours, see his boots scant inches from your own sandals. He’s there.

He’s _here_.


	30. Chapter 30

He had watched her, heart surging with love. Watched her smile as she turned the corner, eyes sliding past him. Seen how tall she stood, how happy she looked. He had rehearsed with Finn exactly what he planned on saying. And then - when Finn had proved incapable of keeping a straight face - he’d enlisted Rey to act as his helper with Chewie offering the occasional guidance. Hours in the _Falcon_ spent discussing the exact right level of groveling - how much he would need to do before he could in good conscience ask her his own burning questions.

They had _practiced_.

And when he saw her it had all flown out of his mind. The only words he had left were the ones that always rose when he saw her.

"Hey Gorgeous."

And he had watched her. Watched her collapse in on herself. The lovely, confident woman his heart ached for wilting before his eyes. He’d known it was going to be hard. Had known that she might not welcome him. But he hadn’t realized how much it would _hurt_ to see her pull away from him.

But he had tried, he had said words and then he had pulled her into his arms and felt his heart break over and over again with every tear that fell from her. And now they were tucked into a small rock garden, scraggly plants dotted about, and under the shade of a large fragrant chinar tree. She was holding herself tightly, staring at the ground between them. He clasps his own hands between his knees, waiting for her to say something. To say anything.

"Why are you here?"

The question takes him aback. He’d have thought that was obvious, what between tracking her halfway across the galaxy and saying he was sorry.

"Are you… are you going to turn me in?" She continues in a quiet voice.

" _What_?" The word comes out louder than he intended and he sees her flinch, arms closing more tightly on herself, eyes squeezing shut.

"Please, I promise I won’t do anything. You’ll never hear from me again. Just let me-" she trails off and he sees her swallow.

"Sweetheart," he aches to reach out to her but can tell she’s not ready for that. So he clasps his hands tighter and hangs his head. "I’m not… why do you _think_ I’m here?"

"To take me back," she whispers brokenly and his heart lurches.

"Not if you don’t want to," he keeps his voice purposefully low, soft.

Her eyes blink open and her head turns to him. "What?"

He could get lost in those eyes. Wants to. Wants to drown in them. But right now he can tell that there is something missing in this conversation. She looks as confused as he feels. "I would never make you do something you don’t want to do. But… yeah. I was hoping you would come home."

"I don’t understand," her eyebrows pull togethers. "You’re not here to arrest me?"

" _What_?" His hands come apart from each other, fingers gripping his knees.

He can see that she’s trying hard not to flinch from him and he purposefully tries to relax. "I thought… you said if you ever saw me you would-" she starts to say but stops herself.

Poe sighs, rubbing his fingers on the bridge of his nose. "Please do not remind me of the things I said."

"If you’re not here to arrest me then…" she trails off, lips parted, blinking at him.

"I’m here to apologize - _not_ for arresting you, at least not arresting you right now. Definitely apologizing for the last time." Fuck, this was not going right. What was it he had practiced with Rey? It was all slipping away. "Please allow me to explain to you, in detail, what an ass I was. Am."

But she’s shaking her head at him. "No, it’s my fault. I never told you - you did exactly what you were supposed to. You had no reason to trust me after seeing-"

He cuts her off swiftly, "I had _every_ reason to trust you. You are the woman I love. And I couldn’t be bothered to even _ask_ you what was going on. I jumped straight to the wrong conclusion."

"It was logical," she offers.

"Logical doesn’t mean _right_ ," he counters. She shrugs and they sit there in silence. Finally he huffs a breath, "Not all that logical either to be honest. What makes more sense, that I could love someone so completely and utterly and they turn out to be…" He doesn’t say the word, doesn’t need it hanging between them again. "Or that I was missing something?"

"I _do_ wish you’d have talked to me before calling security," she says quietly.

Groaning he leans his elbows on his knees. "I’m an ass. I thought we already established that."

"I couldn’t tell you after," she’s turned more to him, still holding herself but less tightly now. "With everything…"

"Oh I get it. I’ve seen Leia’s files. I know what you… The things you did, the sacrifices you made."

"Is that how you found out?" She asks.

He nods, giving her a half smile. "She left very clear and explicit details about your role in taking down the First Order. As well as a pardon for anything you did before you joined us."

"I didn’t know that," her hands are loose now, laying in her lap and he longs to reach out and take one into his. To hold even a small bit of her. Feel her warmth.

"It was easy information to find, once I bothered to look," he sighs.

"What made you look?"

"After the battle, Finn mentioned what you had done. Well, actually," he corrects, "BB-8 told me."

"Oh," her voice is even quieter. "So it wasn’t… you didn’t think…"

He realizes his mistake immediately. "No, I mean-"

"It’s okay," she gives him a small wry smile, "there wasn’t a lot of trust there. I didn’t expect you to-"

 _Fuck_. Now she thought the only reason he’d started to think differently about her was because someone else had vouched for her. Not because he’d trusted her. Which was true but also - _fuck_ that must hurt to hear. "Sweetheart, I would like to reference my previous comments about being an ass." She chuckles a little and he feels his heart swell. "I think… I think I would have gotten there eventually. But BB got to me that same night."

A confused look. "That same night? That was… over a month ago."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "You are not an easy woman to find."

"Well, someone told me to run," she says it with a flippant smile but he can see the tenseness on her face, the way her eyes don’t quite meet his.

He sighs and leans back against the tree, looking up at swaying branches. "I could sit here all day and we would not begin to cover what an ass I was to you." He hears a muffled giggle from her and for the first time thinks that there is actually a chance for them.

"Here," reaching into his shirt he pulls out the chain with his mother’s ring on it, lifting the entire thing over his head. He leans forward, slowly, giving her plenty of time to react before gently settling the chain around her neck, careful not to touch her. "This is yours. Regardless of … whatever happens, this is yours."

She touches the ring resting on her chest with two fingers, her eyes welling up with tears. "Poe-"

He risks it, risks having her flinch from him but he can’t help it, can’t help leaning forward and brush the lightest of kisses across her lips. She doesn’t flinch, but she doesn’t kiss him back either. Doesn’t seem to react at all to the brief touch other than to blink at him

"Don’t say anything," he stares into her eyes, willing her to trust him. Just a little. "I can’t do it in a day but I’m going to apologize for everything I have ever done wrong to you." Her eyes are galaxies, stars shining from them. He gives her a lopsided smile. "And when I’ve finished, I’m going to have a question for you."

She doesn’t say anything. Just gives him the smallest of nods, and that’s enough for now.


	31. Chapter 31

He takes rooms in town. You’d had a brief chance to say hello to Finn and Rey and get a hug from Chewie - before he sent them back to Ajan Kloss. And then he asked you for a recommendation and the next thing you knew he was living in the rooms above Arklei’s.

The next day the apologies started.

What felt like a hundred notes were passed to you throughout the day. Sometimes left with small stones or flowers on your doorstep. Some handed to you when you were walking through town. He was thorough, you’d give him that. Apologizing for calling security that night. For the harsh things he had said. For not trusting you. Each note a moment in time where he felt he had wronged you.

Some of them are said in person, after he waits for you to come out and run your errands. Falling into step beside you and waiting until the tension eases before holding your hands and whispering more detailed apologies.

That he’s sorry for not listening to you the day he set you free.

That he’s sorry for using you that day.

You balk at that one, blushing and biting your lip. He apparently remembered the events of that day very differently than you. When you point that out, point out that you were the one who had pulled him to you. You were the one who had your hands in his pants and had guided him inside of you. That you were the one who had used _him_ if anything… his brows crease as he listens and as you go on the tension seems to ease out of him a little until he gives you a wry smile.

"Maybe that one is on both of us then," he tells you and you suddenly want to kiss him. You don’t, and he doesn’t seem to notice your sudden fixation on his lips. Just tells a quick joke about flying or pilots or something that you miss but laugh appropriately when he raises an eyebrow at you.

On the fourth day after his arrival a box is left on the front step of your home, a note addressed to you. Smiling, you peek into the box and see three chorba fruit nestled inside, ripe and inviting. You hum to yourself as you open the note.

> I’m sorry for leaving my wet towel on the bed.
> 
> -p

You snort and can’t help but smile, pressing the thick paper between your fingers and tapping it against your lips. Apparently, he’d run out of more serious topics. You set the note down, trading it for one of the chorba and moan a little when your teeth sink into the sweet flesh.

He shows up at midday, like he has since his arrival, leaning against the wall outside the front door with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. When he sees you the smile broadens, his eyes crinkling at the corners and he takes the basket from your hands without a word, falling into step beside you as you go to the market. You liked these walks. Like the small chatter and little jokes he makes. It was like those first few months all over again, when you had been passing messages to Maker only knew who. Only this time you could see his face when he told his stories, see his eyes when he flirted with you.

"I’m sorry it took me a month to find you," he says as he hands the basket back to you at your door. He doesn’t let go when your hands close on the handle, just shifts slightly and brushes his thumb across your knuckle. "Although, in my defense, that one is really more your fault I think."

You could make this more serious, say something about how scared you were of him. How hard you had run. But you don’t. He’s trying to move forward, trying to bring light to a dark time in your lives. And as much as he had absolved you of most of your own sins, you felt you owe him the same grace.

"You know what? I will take the blame for this one," you turn one of your hands under his, squeezing his fingers briefly. "I’m sorry I’m so good at disappearing."

He squeezes back. "Just don’t do it again." He says it as a statement but you can see the question in his eyes.

"Promise."

The next morning he knocks on the kitchen door right as you were starting your day, holding a container of fresh brewed caf and you take it from him and cuddle it like a child as you invite him to come inside and sit at the small kitchen island. You pour yourself a cup, offering him one which he declines. Black magic. Sighing in contentment, you breathe in the full aroma and lean your hip back against the counter - closing your eyes as you enjoy the moment.

"I’m sorry I tried to break your brother’s wrist."

You startle so hard the caf splashes, scalding your fingers and wrist. " _Fuck,"_ you mutter, setting the cup down carefully and then turning to look for a cloth. One appears at your side and you look at him. "What did you just say?"

He dips his chin, stuffing his hands in his pockets and refusing to meet your eyes. "Hux right? We met up on the _Steadfast_. He uh…" he trails off and runs a hand through his hair before meeting your eyes. "He’s who made me promise to let you go."

"I wondered about that," you murmur, dropping the towel on the counter and picking your caf back up.

"I know he wasn’t… wasn’t really your brother. But he was family. Right?" You nod and he continues. "Well, I’m sorry I tried to break his wrist."

"He probably deserved it," you comment and see his eyebrow rise.

"Definitely."

He stays for breakfast, eating in the kitchen while you sign for the day’s deliveries and go off to see them safely stored in the warehouse.

When you get back to the kitchen Poe is gone, a folded letter and a shiny stone sitting in his place at the table. You note, somewhat bemused, that he had done all the washing up.

> I’m sorry I proposed in a comms message.
> 
> -p

Another thing he didn’t have to be sorry for. Which you told him as soon as you saw him at midday, standing outside your door.

"It was actually really sweet," you comment as you close the door behind you, passing him the basket without thinking.

"I thought so," he says, taking it and reaching for your hand. You slip your fingers into his without thinking about it. "I thought it was very romantic as a matter of fact. But you seemed kind of put out so I wanted to be sure."

"I was just…" you struggle to find the right word, "surprised."

"Surely not that I was going to propose?" He gives you a skeptical look, "I kind of thought I was being obvious about that part."

You shake your head, lips pressed together to bite back a smile. "I missed that."

"Ch’acevi!" You turn at the sound of your name, waving at Arklei as she quickly hurries over, grinning when she sees you two holding hands.

"I am having friends over tonight, to eat. You will both come, yes?"

You look at Poe and he shrugs, indicating it’s your decision. You bite your lip and smile at him, turning back to her. "We’d love to."

She hugs you both before running off to find whomever her next invite is for. You start to walk but Poe doesn’t move and his hand holds you back. You turn, brow furrowed with a question but his face is serious.

"I’m sorry for every time I called you Taskebah."

You draw quick breath, lips parting. You take a deeper, calming breath and give a tight smile. "It was the name I chose."

But he’s shaking his head, "I don’t care. It wasn’t who you are and every time I said it I can’t help but think I was hurting you." He had, but this was yet another thing that you couldn’t blame him for. "What does your new name mean?"

You blush, looking away and see him grin.

"Oh let me guess. Beautiful? Gorgeous? Amazing?" You’re laughing by the time you get to the market, shaking your head at his increasingly ludicrous suggestions. Finally you pull him to a stop, lifting a hand to his chest to brace yourself against him as you try to stop giggling.

"Poe, please," the laughter seeps out around your words and you can see the warmth in his eyes as he stoops slightly and sets the basket on the ground, using his now free hand to cover yours on his chest. Your other hands still clasped together.

It’s the closest you’ve been since… everything happened. The most normal moment you’ve shared. You can’t help but lean into him a little. You had missed him so much.

"So what _does_ it mean? Or are you not going to tell me?" He says it with a smile, clear that the option was yours.

You shrug, looking away from him. "It means 'friend'."

His hand leaves yours on his chest, his fingers coming up under your chin to tilt your face back to his. "Friend. I like it." His thumb brushes your lower lip. "How do you say 'my friend'?"

Swallowing, licking your lips and feeling your tongue brush his thumb. "Ch’eo ch’acevi."

"Ch’eo ch’acevi," he echoes. Everything inside of you melts at the words. He leans forward slightly. "How do you say, 'May I kiss you'?"

"Ch'im ch'ah ver vah," you whisper.

"Yes," he whispers back and his lips cover yours. There is no passion in it. No heat. Just the softest touch of his lips. This isn’t about wanting anything else but to feel you. It’s a kiss of-

"How do you say 'I love you'?" He interrupts your thoughts.

Your breath is unsteady as you look at him. "Ch'ah ch'acah vah."

He closes his eyes when you say it, doesn’t repeat it back. Just takes a deep breath before opening his eyes and smiling at you.

"We’d better finish the shopping or I’m going to have something new to apologize to you for."


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has explicit sexual content.

Poe watches her across the small courtyard, the soft light casting a warm glow across her features. She’s wearing a long skirt of light tan fabric, two pieces held up by a woven brown belt. The blue shirt is nothing remarkable, other than the way it molds to her body and stops several inches above the waist of her skirt - leaving several inches of bare skin to taunt him all night.

She looked beautiful, laughing with her friend. Hugging the woman and telling her goodnight and thanks from them both. He would be there, would have offered his own thanks, but the other woman had grabbed her hands and drug her off for some hushed conversation. As the conversation involved several looks in his direction he was pretty sure about the topic.

She looked happy. At ease. As he watches her he realizes he’s rarely seen her so completely relaxed - and certainly never outside of their quarters back at the base. She always held a certain tenseness to her. Which made sense, he supposed, all things considered.

But here she wasn’t. Here she was easy and free. She had found a home.

How could he ever ask her to leave?

He mulls the question over as he helps clear the last of the dinner’s remains from the courtyard. He had obligations off of this world. As much as he wanted to stay, it wasn’t an option for him. He was born to be a leader - had known it from the moment he joined the Resistance. Thousands of people were now looking to him to build a new future for the Republic.

Her smile breaks his train of thoughts. The easy sway of her hips as she walks towards him. He reaches for her, smiles when she slides her hands into his.

"Come up with me?" He nods to the stairs leading to his rooms, then points past them to where they lead further onwards. She nods and he leads her up the three floors to the roof. He leaves her for a moment there, staring up at the stars and the shifting light of the nebula above. He returns a few minutes later holding the blanket from his bed and several pillows, quickly making a pallet on the rooftop. She doesn’t say anything while he does it, acknowledges him with a brief smile and goes back to staring upwards.

When he finishes he kneels in the middle, holding a hand out to her. "Ch’acevi?"

She comes without hesitation, taking his hand and sinking to her knees onto the blanket beside him. He doesn’t let go, just twists his wrist to fold his fingers into hers.

"What do you have to apologize for tonight?" She says it with a smile, a glimmer of laughter in her eyes. He grins back.

"To be honest I’m running out of things. Couldn’t convince you to tell me what I missed could I?"

"Well," she looks off to the side and takes a deep breath and he braces himself. "There were the shoes."

"The shoes?" He thinks back, trying to parse the statement. "This isn’t about all my boots is it? Because I’m not apologizing for that. Every pair is important."

She giggles and darts a glance back at him. "No, not those. That day, that day you set me free," he takes a steadying breath, marveling that she could encompass so much in a statement that made him sound like a hero, "you didn’t bring me any shoes."

His brow furrows as he thinks. "I didn’t?"

"No," she rolls her eyes. "Apparently you thought I would be able to get off-planet in a stolen mechanic’s uniform barefoot."

He grunts. "It- it genuinely didn’t occur to me."

"I know."

He meets her eyes. "I’m sorry I didn’t bring you shoes."

"Forgiven, but you owe me a foot rub. I stubbed my toe on the way back home." _Home_. Did she still think of their quarters that way? He couldn’t imagine how she might. After everything.

"I just want to say," she turns to him with a worried expression and he forces himself to continue, "again, that I’m sorry for that whole-"

She shakes her head and cuts him off, "No, don’t do that. You’ve been forgiven, there’s no need to say it again."

He shakes his head slightly, hearing the note of awe enter his voice but unable and unwilling to hide it. "You’re amazing, you know that?" She shrugs and he moves closer, reaching out to cup her neck in his hand. "No. Listen to me. You are _amazing_. Just, sit here and accept that."

Her lips part and he brushes his thumb across them before leaning back again. Taking a deep breath he confesses his last regret. "I’m sorry I couldn’t be who you needed."

Her hand squeezes his. "You were _exactly_ what I needed. I don’t think I would have been able to go on… I nearly quit you know. Over the years, as things went on and on and it felt like nothing was getting better. Like I was falling deeper and deeper into something I couldn’t get out of. I nearly walked away." She’s staring past him and he waits for her to continue. "On the _Home One_ they knew there was a spy. It was, it was hell to be there and know that I was _it_. I nearly left. Nearly turned in my uniform and just… walked away." She looks back at him then, tears hanging off her eyelashes and he reaches forward and brushes them away. "And then you caught me."

He pulls her towards him and again, she moves without hesitation. Turning her back to him before settling into the V of his thighs, resting her back against his chest. He wraps his arms around her, dropping his chin to her shoulder and breathing her in. "I fucked up really badly before," he whispers into her neck, "but I am promising you, right now, I will _always_ be there to catch you."

She wraps her arms over his, leaning into him and pressing her cheek against his own. They stay like that, holding each other under a blanket of stars and the shifting light of the Mytus nebula. Neither of them are looking, however, eyes closed and concentrating on remembering the feel of each other.

She shifts first, moving away from him and turning, coming up to her knees to face him. Lifting her hand, she pushes his hair back from his forehead and he catches it, placing a kiss on the palm before letting it go. But she doesn’t move away, cups his cheek instead and then leans forward and kisses him. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls and he sits up on his knees, using his arms to pull her up too so that they can press to each other.

Having her in his arms, it’s like the galaxy is suddenly back on its axis. The gravity quotient he hadn’t realized was wrong had reset.

"Ch'ah ch'acah vah," he whispers against her lips. He watches her eyes open, sees the love shining from them.

"Ch'eo ch'acah sir vah cart cacasn," she whispers back. He doesn’t know what that means but can guess. Can guess the emotion behind it from the look on her face and the way she pulls him against her, pulls him down into the nest of blankets he made. He tucks a pillow beneath her before they are all the way down, carefully setting her head back to it before pulling away so he can look at her.

"How do I say 'You’re beautiful'?"

"Vah cart bat," she gasps her answer, arching as his fingers slide around the bare skin of her hip.

"Vah cart bat," he repeats, slipping his fingers under the edge of her shirt, feels the shudder that runs through her. "How do I say, 'I want you'?"

He nuzzles his lips behind her ear as she answers. "Ch'ah ch'epasahn vah."

"Ch'ah ch'epasahn vah," he moans his response. Pressing open mouth kisses down her neck as he lifts her shirt. She reaches down to help him, pulling it over her head and baring her skin to him. He cups her breast gently in his hand, relishing the softness of her skin.

"How do I say-?" But she cuts him off, digging her fingers into his hair and pulling his mouth up to hers.

"Stop talking Poe," she orders and then her mouth is hot and needy against his. He groans, rolling her nipple between two fingers and she arches her back, biting back a noise that he gladly takes into his own mouth. But he does as she asks, finding much better uses for his tongue than learning a new language. Instead, he concentrates on re-learning her body.

It comes back to him easily, the spots that make her moan, make her writhe, make her call out his name. And she does her own exploring, shaping her hands to the planes of his body, dipping and stroking and touching until nothing in the universe exists but her.

When she finally comes to her knees over him, finally takes him inside her body, he can’t stop the drop of his jaw. The stunned look on his face. But he can’t help it, she’s just so… The silhouette of her against the night sky, the swirling colors of the nebula framing her as she tilts her face up to the stars, her own lips parted in pleasure.

If he concentrates hard enough he might be able to remember this moment forever.

And then she starts to move and he can see his own stars. Not then ones in the sky, but the ones exploding just behind his eyes and down to his toes. He reaches between them frantically, knowing he doesn’t have much time. But her hand is already there and he settles on her hips instead. Moving her, trying to thrust against the angle that makes her breath catch in her throat.

When she comes it’s silent. Her throat working, her mouth open in a soundless cry, her muscles clamping down around him with such delicious tightness he loses his own control. Moaning her name while he shudders inside of her.

She slumps forward when she comes back to him and he catches her forearms, holding her up and laughing quietly to himself when she lazily blinks her eyes open and gives him a small, loving smile.

"Alabanza Poe," she whispers.

"Alabanza my Friend," he whispers back, slowly lowering her so she lays across his chest and he can wrap his arms around her. Her knees are still at his hips, he’s still inside of her, but in this moment it feels right to hold her as close as he can. Until he doesn’t know where he ends and she begins.

The realization washes over him in a wave. Whatever else was going on in the galaxy - this woman, wherever she was, was where he belonged.

She was his home.


	33. Chapter 33

It was a miracle you made it back to his bed. Between the kissing, the touching, and the giggling it took a solid half hour to gather up your clothes and the bedding and pad downstairs and into his rooms. You hadn’t bothered to make the bed, just tossed all the pillows and blankets onto it and then he was pressing you down into the middle of them and his lips were on your skin and it didn’t really seem to matter anymore.

The moon had risen by the time he let you catch your breath, laying next to you with his hand on your lower back. You had collapsed face first into the pillows, heard his grunt when he collapsed next to you. You tuck your arms under your head and turn to smile at him.

"I missed you," he says it quietly. Eyes on your face.

"I’ve missed you too."

He smiles and you watch him pull himself closer to you, half covering your back with his body and pressing his lips to your shoulder. Then a gentle sigh.

"What is it?" you ask.

He doesn’t respond, just uses his hands to turn you on your side so you’re facing him, nose to nose. He looks worried and it’s making you worried. You lift a hand to run your fingers over his brow. "Credit for your thoughts?"

"I’m trying to figure out how we do this."

You didn’t like his tone, how defeated he sounds. "Do what?"

"This," he squeezes your hip. "Be together."

You feel your chest tighten, your breath catch. "I don’t understand…"

He closes his eyes and you start to pull away, but his hands stop you, pulling you deeper into his embrace. Pressing his lips to your forehead. "I can’t ask you to come back with me."

"What? _Why_?" You shove him away this time, grabbing the edge of the blanket and pulling it over yourself as you sit up. He looks pained, running a hand over his face.

"I’m sorry I said anything, come back to bed," he holds his arms out and you glare at him, scooting further away from him.

"Not until you tell me what you’re talking about. Why can’t you ask me to come back? I thought my name was cleared."

"It was, it _is,_ " he rushes to reassure you, sitting up and crossing his legs. "It’s not that. You’re officially a hero." He pauses, tilting his head, "And a Colonel now. By the way."

"Thanks?" You shake your head, "Poe, whatever is happening right now is ruining a really great night so could you please get to the point?"

"I can’t ask you to leave here," he says again.

"I heard that. _Why?"_

"Because you’re happy here," he explains as though that’s an answer.

"And?"

He looks at you from under lowered brows, "What do you mean 'And'?"

"Yes, I’m happy here. What does that have to do with leaving?"

He sighs, "I can’t ask you to leave somewhere you’re happy."

Suddenly it clicks for you and you nearly roll your eyes at him. This beautiful lovely _dumbass_ of a man. "Oh I see."

"Do you?" He looks up at you again, his chin is practically on his chest and he’s telegraphing such sadness your heart would break if he wasn’t also being fucking _ridiculous_.

"Mmhmm," you reply. "This is literally the only place in the galaxy I’m capable of being happy. So even though it would mean not being with the man I love I am required to stay here until the day I die." As you talk you see his brows draw together and his head lifts. "Ignoring the fact, of course, that being here without the man I love makes me decidedly _un_ happy."

You nod to yourself, moving off the edge of the bed and wrapping the blanket around yourself like a toga. "To be happy I have to stay here. And to be happy I should be with the person I love. But staying here means not being with the person I love. So staying here will make me unhappy. Which is not allowed so I have to-"

"Sweetheart," he groans the word, pressing his hand to his face.

"No no, I’m nearly there. This is like that riddle about the man with the bantha and the rancor and the rations in a speeder built for two. I remember this, what we have to do is-"

You don’t get to finish. He surges off the bed, wrapping you into a hug and pulling you back down to the mattress and pressing his face to you neck. "Stop making fun of me," he grumbles.

You smile into his hair. "Never."

"Then come home with me?"

You sigh in contentment, snuggling down into his arms. "Of course."

"And let marry me you?" You feel his hand between you, pressing to your chest, to his mother’s ring.

You swallow and nod, "Yes."

He lifts his head, eyes shining, and you kiss him. Twining yourself around him and showing him with your body what there doesn’t seem to be words for. When you come up for air you remember your one concern. "On one condition."

"Name it," he says without hesitation.

"I don’t want to report to you."

He pauses. His hair, as always, is falling into his eyes and you take the opportunity to run your fingers through it, combing it back. He leans into your touch. "Why not?"

You grin, twisting your fingers into his hair and watch him stretch over you like a cat. "I don’t think it’s good for us if there’s that kind of weird power imbalance."

"Mmhmm," he’s still practically purring and you scrape your nails behind his ears and feel his body jerk. "Well, there is the new Navy. We need good people to run things there. That would put you out of my reach."

"Oh," you reply, running a finger over his ear. "I don’t think I said I wanted _that_."

But he’s grinning down at you. "Admiral Ch’acevi. I like the sound of that."

You bite your lip. "About that…"

His eyebrows rise, "Are you changing your name _again_?"

"Ha, ha," you grouse, "funny. No, but I was thinking maybe it was time to take on a last name. A family name."

He nods, biting his lip while you continue to play with his hair. "Maybe something we could both take?" he offers.

Your hands freeze and you hear the small sound of disappointment he makes that you’ve stopped petting him. "What do you mean?"

He props himself up on an elbow, holding his head up in his hand. "Well, I was thinking maybe we both take a new name. Something that shows our new life. That we belong to each other."

"You would do that?" you ask softly.

He gives you a quick kiss, then comes back for a longer one. "Sweetheart, I would love nothing more in the world than to share a name with you."

You blink back tears, staring up at this man you loved. For years, for most of your life, you hadn’t been called anything at all. The closest thing to a name either epithets spit at you by others, or the moniker you had taken when you joined the Resistance. A private joke for yourself you had come to hate. You were the daughter of a Sloane, but had been forbidden to use it.

So to hear Poe not only support you, but want to take a name _with_ you. Something you could share, a new family name you could pass on together… you couldn’t help the tears.

"Oh Sweetheart," his face looks a little panicked. "What now?"

"I love you," you manage to stutter out through sniffles.

"I love you too," he says back, wiping the tears from your cheeks. He smiles, reaching down and lifting the chain from your neck. He pulls the ring from it and then lifts your hand, sliding it back into its place on your finger. Then he pulls your hand to his mouth and kisses it. "We’ll make new beginnings," he whispers.

"New beginnings," you whisper back, and then you pull him down into your arms and neither of you speak again for quite some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is the last. Thank you for coming with me on this journey with Poe and You :)
> 
> If you've been reading this and thought to yourself "Wow I really like how Brandyllyn writes I wish this fic was longer" (also what is wrong with you it's like 60k words) then might I suggest clicking on my name and reading:
> 
> The Art of Falling: Poe Dameron x You (complete)  
> In our own image... : Poe Dameron x OFC (new, ongoing)


	34. Chapter 34

Poe was starting to have the _slightest_ twinge of apprehension about the wedding.

Well, not the wedding. The wedding was going to be wonderful. Finn had taken on the majority of the planning with a gusto the moment they had gotten back to Ajan Kloss, taking trips into the jungle with Rey and Chewie to find what felt like acres of flowers. His fiancée had moved out of their shared quarters a few days ago, citing some kind of tradition but all he knew was that he missed her. Missed having her with him. So no, not apprehensive about the wedding. He was looking forward to both the wedding and the wedding _night_ with anticipation. But the _marriage,_ the marriage had him concerned for one fairly large reason.

She wouldn’t tell him what their new name meant.

Oh, he knew what it _was_. Had started the process of changing over files and servers and all the sundries of being in command to his new name. But he didn’t know what it _meant_.

Poe Batahn-Dameron.

He liked it, that much he would admit to. Liked the way it rolled off his tongue. It almost rhymed, something he’d had no end of fun with when she had told him. But she wouldn’t tell him what it _meant_ and it was starting to worry him. The first person he asked was, of course, C-3PO. The droid knew a fuzillion languages so it was an obvious first stop.

"Oh I am sorry Master Poe I-"

"Can’t tell me," Poe is sighing before the droid finishes. He should have known. "Did my fiancée get to you first?"

"Yes sir."

"Would it make a difference if I ordered you to tell me?"

"No sir."

"3PO?" Poe asks with a raised eyebrow, "Have you _ever_ been able to translate something for me when I needed you to?"

"Well of course I have Master Poe, there was-"

Poe cuts the droid off with a sharp motion. "Never mind. It was rhetorical."

The next person he asked was Rose. She had put in for a transfer into the Resistance Navy last week and she and his fiancée were two peas in a pod at this point. Working together to find, promote, and build a new Navy to protect the new Republic.

Rose grins at him when he asks his question, not a good sign. "She told me it was a translation of 'Acrophobia'." At Poe’s blank look Rose explains, "Fear of heights."

" _What_?" Poe chokes.

"Poe 'Fear of Heights' Dameron has a nice ring to it I think," Rose reassures him.

"You _cannot_ be serious," Poe can feel a vein bulging in his neck.

Rose snickers, "If it helps I’m pretty sure she was joking."

Poe glares at her and she doesn’t even flinch, just gives him a sarcastic salute. "You know I outrank you right?" He growls.

Rose nods, "Hence the salute, General."

It was for the best that she was no longer in his chain of command.

He tried Finn next. Maybe in the course of wedding planning his love had told him what it meant. He found the man in the kitchens, over-seeing what was quickly becoming a ridiculous feast for the ceremony and party in less than two days. BB-8 was rolling around between the tables, beeping orders and changes at the individual cooks.

"Hey Finn," he calls out and waits for acknowledgement, not wanting to interrupt.

"Hey pal," Finn calls back, crossing over and clapping him on the shoulder. "You getting nervous?"

Poe can’t help the smile that comes over him. "Not a bit."

Finn laughs and nudges him with his arm, breaking the trail of nice thoughts Poe was starting to wander down. "What can I do for you?"

Poe shakes his head and gives Finn a plaintive look, "I was wondering… has my lovely fiancée told you anything about our new name?"

"Batahn?" Finn asks and Poe nods. Finn’s face goes very serious and then pitying. "Yeah, she did."

Poe didn’t like that look at all. "She did? What’s it mean? Where’s it from?"

"Buddy I don’t think you want to-"

"Please."

Finn sighs, "She told me it was that language, Cheunh." Another heavy sigh, "It means Armitage."

"Armitage?" Poe repeats quietly before his voice rises several pitches. "As in Armitage _Hux_? She’s naming us after Armitage _Hux_?"

Finn shrugs and holds up his hands. "I dunno man, I’m just repeating what she told me."

At his feet, BB-8 nudges his shins and he drops to one knee as the droid starts whistling. "Wait, what did she tell you buddy?"

More whistles and a trilling noise and then Finn is giggling. Poe’s eyebrows draw together. "I don’t get it. What’s so funny about that?"

"Patine?" Finn asks, leaning one hand against a table and gasping for air. "You don’t think being named 'Poe Patine-Dameron' would be funny?"

Poe growls as he stands up, glaring at both Finn and BB-8 who is spinning in a happy circle at having made Finn laugh. He stomps off, leaving the snickering sounds of Finn’s laughter behind him.

No matter who he had asked everyone had a different, increasingly ridiculous, answer. Eventually he made his way to the line of X-Wings, crawling under and inside an engine in an effort to tune out his thoughts. But he’s not there five minutes before a foot kicks his boots and he lifts his head to see Rey squatting next to his feet.

"I heard you were having concerns about your upcoming marriage?"

He smiles at her in genuine warmth. Rey had offered to stay on Ajan Kloss until after the wedding at least in part because they had asked her, as the closest thing to a religious figure on base, to officiate. He pulls himself out from under the craft, accepting the hand she offers to pull him to his feet.

"No concerns about the marriage," he corrects her quickly. "I am fucking _thrilled_ to be getting married."

"Mmhmm," she hums skeptically. "Then why are you all over base asking people questions about your future wife’s intentions?"

"I wouldn’t say I was-"

"That’s _exactly_ what you were doing," she interrupts. "Do you trust her?"

He doesn’t hesitate. "With my life."

"But not your name?" She tilts her head at him and he grimaces.

"Also with my name," he finally says, starting to see her point and not liking it.

Sure enough, her next words are "It doesn’t sound like you do."

He makes a face at her, "You’re annoying you know that?"

"Learned it from you," she returns with a wide grin and a wink.

He laughs and throws an arm over her shoulders as they walk away, "I am sunshine and starlight itself. How could anyone possibly be annoyed with me?"

"I do _not_ know what she sees in you," Rey shakes her head ruefully.

"Not everyone is as blind to my charms as you are my friend."

The morning of the wedding dawns bright and beautiful. They had originally thought to keep the whole thing small and private but Finn’s incredulous look and the advice of other senior officers had led to a much larger affair. The consensus seemed to be that as two heroes of the Resistance, their wedding was as much about the troops and the movement itself as it was a wedding. Someone had even pointed out that his position as the child of two decorated Rebels, and hers as a child of the most famous Imperial Admiral, showed that there was a path to unity.

Poe wasn’t so sure about that but he could see the symbolism.

So, for maybe the fifth time in his career, Poe was wearing full officer’s dress - the points of his collar sticking up into his neck. Finn was fussing with the jacket, smoothing wrinkles and plucking bits of lint only he could see. They would walk out together, Finn just behind him and at his side when the time came. She would do the same with Rose. And then they would meet in the middle where Rey was waiting with BB-8.

"You ready for this?" Finn asks, not for the first time.

"I’m ready," Poe replies calmly, unable to stop the smile on his face.

"You’ve practiced what you’re going to say?"

"Finn, the only thing I have to do is say 'yes' when I’m asked a question," he rolls his eyes.

"And yet," Finn jerks on his jacket causing Poe to sway slightly, "you seem to be unable to answer my question. Have you practiced?"

"Yes."

"Good." Finn steps back and looks at him. "Now, if you change your mind I want you to know I’m ready to step in."

"What?" Poe’s eyes snap to his friend.

"She’s a damn fine woman Poe," Finn shrugs. "I’m just saying if you-"

"Stop talking," Poe says it in his most commanding tone and he’s not sure if it’s that or the start of the music that makes Finn shut up but he does. He takes a deep breath and turns to head out but Finn nudges him and thrusts something into his hands. He takes it unconsciously then glances down.

"A comm pad?"

Finn shrugs and gestures at it. "I was just told to give it to you."

⋁⊻⩚⋈⋀⋁ ⋖⩚⩜

<beginning of message>

_Sender ID: 406._ ⊼⊽. _37._ 12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Sent: 35/05/11 13.04.56_

> I love you.

_Recipient ID: 382._ ⋋ ⊥.46.12 ⊻ _37_ ⋀  
_Received: 35/05/11 13.06.45_

<end of message>

Poe’s face hurts, he’s smiling so wide, as he taps out his response and then hands the unit back to Finn. Yeah, now he was ready. He ducks out of the small room and into the wide, open plaza.

It’s packed with people. Pilots, mechanics, and officers of the Resistance. Dignitaries and politicians from nearby star systems. A lot of people he might have recognized had he bothered to look but from the moment he steps out he only has eyes for her.

She is on the opposite side of the plaza, her dress wrapping over her shoulders and around her waist before falling in long panels to the ground. It takes him a moment to place the color but with everyone in uniform around her it quickly becomes obvious.

She’s wearing red. The same color as the patch on a hundred shoulders watching her. The one on his shoulder. The red of the Resistance.

And she’s holding… something in her hands. A comm pad. He can see the moment his message come through, sees her face light up and her shoulders draw back. She passes the unit to Rose and then she is walking, walking to him, the love of his life and his dream come true. He vaguely sees BB-8 spinning, shooting flower petals into the air, only notices because they swirl around the two of them and get caught in her hair.

If someone had held a blaster to his head he couldn’t have told them a word Rey said. Once he had his love’s hands in his everyone else just faded away and all he was left with was her eyes. He hears a pointed cough from behind him at one point but ignores it. It’s quickly followed by a sharp kick to his shoe and he turns incredulous eyes on Finn who is trying to communicate with him through a combination of telepathy and mime.

" _What_?" he whispers.

"She asked you the _question_ ," Finn whispers back, loudly enough that several people nearby chuckle. "I thought you said you’d practiced."

"Oh," he turns back and sees Rey hiding a smile. But his love, she has eyes only for him. "Yes. Of course. Whole-heartedly."

Unlike him, she doesn’t miss her cue which is good because it meant that the next thing he could do was use her hands to draw her close and kiss her in front of the assembled friends and allies. He hears bells, but that’s not a new thing for when his lips touch hers. And cheering, which _is_ new and absolutely delightful. And then he wraps his arms around her and spins her around in front of everyone, hearing her laugh and seeing her smile and falling in love with her all over again.

And from the corner of his eye, for just a second, he thinks he sees someone else. Someone who can’t be there. General Organa. Leia. Standing next to his dad, smiling and wiping a tear from her cheek. But when he looks again she’s gone. Just a trick of his imagination.

The party rivaled any he had ever heard about. The celebration post-Exegol had been a last-minute affair, born as much of remembrance as it was joy. And it seemed that today people were trying to make up for it. There was music and dancing and food everywhere. People pulling the two of them in for hugs and toasts. They made their way through the crowds, fingers intertwined or arms around the other’s waist.

And when someone asks him why he hasn’t danced with his wife yet he turns to her with a grin and asks, "That’s true, why _haven’t_ I?" and he pulls her to him, lifting their joined hands and placing the other on her waist. Then he spins her into the circle of dancers, living for her joyous laugh and the light of love shining from her eyes.

Others try to break in - alternatively trying to say it is their turn to dance with either him or her. But he never lets her go. Just gives them a look and spins her into the circle once again. When she’s so dizzy she’s clinging to him he finally slows, pulling away and looking down into her face.

"Alabanza wife."

"Alabanza my husband."

 _Husband_. The word makes everything inside of him heat up and his thoughts must show on his face because she blushes and darts her eyes towards the exit and then raises her eyebrows at him.

"Do you think we could-?"

"Yes," he growls, taking her by the hand and almost running through the crowds. He ignores the people that try to stop them, not pausing for their questions or congratulations. Not slowing until he’s left the sounds of the party behind them, the moons and stars overhead lighting the array of ships of the flight line.

She is smiling, free and happy and relaxed. He presses her back to an X-Wing, his own smile so wide he feels like his face is going to split. "Are you finally going to tell me what 'Batahn' means? If I’m going to carry it around I deserve to know."

The look she gives him is so full of love he thinks his heart might stop. "It means Gorgeous." A wave of emotion rolls over him, settling inside of him as she continues. "It was the first name anyone ever called me that I liked," she reaches up, pushing his hair back with her fingers, "and, well… you are."

"Admiral and General Gorgeous," he muses, leaning down to brush his lips across hers. "I like it."

"I prefer to call you mine," she whispers back.

"Oh, that most definitely." He nods, nuzzling his nose against hers. "Always and forever yours my friend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~fin~


End file.
